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MADAME DE LAFAYETTE 

AND HER FAMILY 




ADRIENNE DE NOAILLES 
MARQUISE DE LA FAYETTE 



After a miniature in tlie possession of the Family 









MADAME 

DE 

LAFAYETTE 

AND HER 
FAMILY 



#*^ BY ^ 

^J M. MacDERMOT CRAWFORD ^P 



I 



NEW YORK 



^ 



JAMES POTT & CO. 



Copyright, 1907, by 
James Pott & Co. 



First impressioji, September, 1907 a 



fL/»fi/^j?YofC0MaRESsl 
I Two Cooles Recalverf I 

I SEP \Z 190/ 

►Cooyrifht 




SDetJicateU to 

C ^. C. 



FROM the memoirs, real and fictitious, written in 
such profusion during the last days of Royal 
France, one is apt to form, in judging the char- 
acter of the grande dame of that period, an 
erroneous estimate, and to forget that there existed other 
and nobler women than those celebrated for extrava- 
gance and intrigue: hundreds to whom the salons of 
Versailles were preferably terra incognita. Of this lat- 
ter type was the wife of Lafayette. 

Aside from the prominent part she played, no 
woman of the Revolution possesses a more interesting 
personality than Adrienne de Noailles. " She was," 
wrote the Count de Segur, " a model of heroism. She 
was one of the few whose unsullied reputation received 
new lustre from the misfortunes of the Revolution." 

During the stormy days of the Terror the position 
of Mme. de Lafayette was one of extreme danger. 
Only the constant, frantic efforts of her friends and the 
repeated appeals of the American minister saved her 
from that tragic guillotine where, within the hour, 
mother, sister, and grandmother perished. 

Young and enthusiastic, she encouraged in Lafay- 
ette those republican tendencies which, bitterly op- 
posed by their relatives, cost them at a later date so 
dearly. Stifling her heartache, she sped the husband on 
that hazardous voyage across distant seas to aid the 
great cause of liberty in far-off America — a land, as her 
quaint letters to Washington show, she always loved 
and longed to visit. 

The wife of Lafayette rests to-day by the side of 
vii 



her famous husband in that forgotten cemetery of Pic- 
pus, a pathetic " God's Acre " in the heart of careless 
Paris. One hundred years have elapsed since her death. 
Time has effaced every trace of the beautiful garden 
wherein as a child she played. The " vast " Hotel de 
Noailles is a tale of by-gone days, and her Paris is 
fast passing. But the memory of Adrienne de Noailles 
must always live in the hearts of those who, now a great 
nation, were only a band of struggling patriots when 
Lafayette espoused their cause. Womanlike, she loved 
that cause — because him she loved loved it. 

M. MacD. C. 

Paris, June 19, 1907. 



Vlll 



Ltjst Of 3!Uu0tmt(Dnj5 



FACING 
PAGE 



AdRIENNE DE NoaILLES Frontispiece 

D'Agusseau 3 *-' 

Mlle. de Lafayette 17 

The Hotel de Noailles 35 / 

Cardinal de Noailles 62 ' 

Noailles 71 

Comtesse d'Ayen . 100 

De Lafayette 148 

Fac-simile of Washington Letter 177 / 

Lafayette and His Family in Prison . . . ,280 

ChAteau de la Grange . . 300 - 

Views of Cemetery and Grave 325 



MADAME DE LAFAYETTE AND 
HER FAMILY 



CHAPTER I 

IN this day, when the white light of historical re- 
search has fallen on even the most obscure char- 
acters, bringing into prominence those details 
which, for the sake of bygone reputations, were 
better deep buried in the past of the obhvion, it is more 
than remarkable that the wife of that world-renowned 
man, the Marquis de Lafayette, should remain prac- 
tically unknown. Had she been one of those " fair, 
frail women," an extravagant mistress, whose slender 
fingers meddled in the skein of political intrigue, we 
should know her intimately merely from her connec- 
tion with so famous a character. The most trivial de- 
tails of her personality would be at our tongues' end — 
her preferred colour, the perfume which wafted from 
her silken skirts, and long ago we should have been 
possessed of that intimate knowledge which we have 
gleaned anent the various ladles of that epoch. Being 
his wife, the mother of his children, she is, to the pres- 
ent generation, hidden by the mists of indifferent ob- 
scurity. By her contemporaries, Adrienne de Noailles, 
Marquise de Lafayette, was known and highly esteemed 
for the qualities which made her stand first among those 
of her day as a pure and undefiled type of the finest 
womanhood. It is sad that a woman of such noble 
character, intrepidity of action and spirit, such daunt- 
less courage, should be forgotten in the hundred years 
which have passed since she breathed her last. 



lai^atiame ht Eafapette 

France had no finer blood than that flowing In her 
veins. She came of a long line of ancestors, on both 
sides noted for their services to king and country. Her 
courtesy, fearlessness, and pride of birth showed the 
blood of the Noailles; her sweetness of disposition, un- 
selfishness, lack of ostentation, and passionate love of 
husband and children were the characteristics of her 
mother, Henriette d'Agusseau, daughter of the famous 
chancellor. From the chancellor came that calm, well- 
balanced mind, the result of generations of legal train- 
ing. Indeed, in most traits she favoured the distaff 
side of the family. She was unselfish to the point of 
self-immolation — a characteristic not obtrusive in the 
family of de Noailles — and, withal, had that fearless- 
ness which, even at the steps of the scaffold, made her 
refuse to forswear those principles professed by her hus- / 
band which had cost her so dearly. The love which/ 
she bore her husband stands " seldom equalled, never 
excelled," in the annals of devotion, declared Fox. In 
every breath she drew was displayed that wonderful, 
unfaltering adherence to his cause which made her loy- 
ally and intrepidly, in those terrible days when the name 
of Lafayette was a death warrant in itself, begin all 
her petitions with the bold words: "La femme La- 
fayette." 

Of her immediate maternal ancestors, her great- 
grandfather, the chancellor, Henri d'Agusseau, was 
the most famous for the part which he played in the 
affairs of the Regency. Born in 1668 — a year remark- 
able, among other things, for the conclusion of the 
Triple Alliance between England, Holland, and Sweden, 
brought about by the offense given by the pompous 
Louis to the rest of Europe; and, more locally, the 
establishment of a Supreme Court of Judicature at 
Tournay, which in 1686 "was erected into a Parlia- 
ment." At this time also was the fourteenth Louis at 
the zenith of his arrogant splendour — his court the 
cynosure of the world. 




HENRY FRANCOIS DAGUESSEAU 

GREAT-GRANDFATHER OF MME. DE LAFAYETTE 

From a print in the collection of the author 



^nti J^er familp 

D'Agusseau's father, the great-great-grandfather 
of Mme. de Lafayette, was Councillor of State and 
Intendant of Languedoc at the time of his son's birth. 
He possessed such influence with the king that his son 
was appointed, at the unprecedented age of twenty-two 
and a half years, to be one of the three Avocats General, 
the eloquence of his maiden speech making him famous 
ere the concluding periods had fallen from his lips. He 
justified the brilliance of his first appearance — in 1700 
being made Procureur General; Chancellor, and Keeper 
of the Seals in 17 17, at the age of forty-eight. Among 
the wild excesses of the day he remained unscathed, 
remarkable for the purity of his life, preferring the so- 
ciety of the grave and educated few to the rabble sur- 
rounding the Regent. Boileau and Racine were two 
of his most cherished companions. 

In his office of Procureur General, d'Agusseau 
gained immense popularity with the masses by the 
justice and leniency he displayed in criminal cases and 
for his strictly conscientious and honest care and admin- 
istration of the public hospitals under his charge. He 
was held in high esteem by the Regent, probably from 
the fact of his incorruptibility and absolute refusal to 
act in a manner opposed to his conscience and ideas of 
right and wrong — a trait seldom found in those sur- 
rounding Philippe d'Orleans. D'Agusseau was stub- 
bornly opposed to the projects of the famous Law, who 
had artfully filled the mind of the greedy regent with 
tales of untold gold. Being made chancellor in 17 17, 
his position enabled him to place before his master the 
consequences which must follow such schemes, though 
even he never dreamed of the scenes of frenzied excite- 
ment later to be enacted by the mad populace of Paris. 
He would not be cajoled into approval, and, after sev- 
eral stormy interviews with the regent, was deprived 
of the seals of his office, and banished by that bewitched 
individual to his country seat at Fresnes. His recall, 
five years later, is said to have been due to the influence 



0^atiamc tie Hafapette 

of Law and Cardinal Fleury, but that and the remain- 
der of his life is too well known to necessitate descrip- 
tion or comment. 

Of the five years of his banishment, filled with re- 
search and study, he always spoke with the greatest 
pleasure. He was able to devote much time to his 
favourite occupation of gardening, and lived the life 
of a simple country gentleman, surrounded by his family 
and friends. Once freed " from the madding crowd," 
he did not sigh for the position which had been his. 
Philosophically he sat in patriarchal state, watching the 
follies which his wise brain had predicted; grieved that 
his countrymen should be as imbecile children in the 
hands of the Scotch adventurer. He studied, read, and 
compared the Scriptures in many languages; made deep 
researches into the jurisprudence of his own and other 
countries, a matter which had always been of the most 
profound interest to him, though one, to which until 
now, he had never been able to devote much time. Thir- 
teen volumes come to us comprising his works, mostly 
on legal subjects. His lighter hours were filled with 
literature and the study of philosophy. On his recall 
to office, he laboured and did much to adjust the laws 
prevailing in different parts of France, so that a uniform 
code should be used at all courts and trials. As a magis- 
trate, he was so conscientious that St. Simon complains 
he spent too much time over the cases which came before 
him! Legal France owes inestimable benefit to his 
labours, what he did being invaluable to the fraternity, 
and causing him to rank with Lemoigne and L'Hopital 
in his achievements. 

He retained his rank of chancellor until his death 
in 1750, though he had relinquished his duties the pre- 
ceding year. His good qualities seem to have been 
transmitted to his descendants in a conspicuous degree, 
their history forming a sharp contrast to the majority 
of the families of the day and generation. He had sev- 
eral sisters who married well, but possess little interest 



now, not being noted in one way or another. It was 
his son, Jean Baptist d'Agusseau de Fresnes, who, in 
the year 1736, married the lovely and gentle Anne- 
Louise Frangoise Dupre, " Dame de La Grange-Ble- 
neau-en-Brie," grandmother to Mme. de Lafayette. 
The union was conducted with sufficient pomp and cere- 
mony; was happy, too, during the brief time it lasted, 
for, alas 1 the following year the poor young wife died, 
leaving in her place a tiny girl, who was later Duchesse 
d'Ayen, mother of Mme. de Lafayette. Until she was 
three years old Henriette lived under the care of her 
grandparents, and there is nothing of interest to chroni- 
cle but the usual catalogue of infantile ailments and the 
consequent lustily yelled protest when retribution, in the 
form of a noxious dose, overtook the rebellious patient. 

Her father, a year after the death of his wife, re- 
married, and, being for the second time a widower, 
again submitted to the matrimonial yoke. He might 
without exaggeration be termed a much married man, 
though the cares and worries of the holy state of matri- 
mony fretted him little, and he died at a ripe old age, 
surrounded and regretted by his numerous descendants, 
among whom were a son, afterwards senateur et pair 
de France^ member of the Academie Frangaise, who 
died in 1826, and two daughters. One, Angelique 
Frangoise Rosalie, married Bouchard de Saron, later 
premier president du Parlement de Paris-, the other, 
Claire Genevieve Pauline, became the wife of M. de 
Segur, well known in the world of diplomacy and art. 

The first child, Henriette, was of a curious and most 
precocious disposition. At the age of three she was 
sent, with her devoted nurse, to the Convent du Visita- 
tion de Saint Denis, there being under the particular 
and especial care of one of the nuns, Mme. de Heri- 
court, a woman of rarely extraordinary charm of man- 
ner, blended with gentle determination of character. 
The little orphan was much petted by the good Sisters, 
but the judicious care of Mme. de Hericourt and the 



^l^atiame tie Slafapette 

watchful jealousy of her nurse kept the sweetness of 
her disposition from becoming spoiled by excessive adu- 
lation. Of Mme. de Hericourt, Mme. de Lafayette 
wrote later that she possessed rare talent for educa- 
tion, " and knew how to make virtue attractive to her 
pupils. But toward virtue my mother's heart was nat- 
urally inclined," she continues, " and to its practice she 
applied herself from her earliest childhood with that 
rectitude which was her special characteristic; so much 
so, that with an irresolute though superior mind, with a 
physical and mental inclination to be alarmed and 
troubled in all circumstances, this disquietude and 
anxiety could be traced to one sole cause superior to 
all others. To her always could be applied the words 
of Psalm cxix : ' My soul is continually in my hand, 
yet do I not forget thy law ' ; such were the feelings of 
my mother's heart." 

" From her earliest years the integrity of her heart 
united with the sterling qualities of her mind to give 
an excellent foundation to her education." She read 
much, and books which would have been beyond the 
comprehension and liking of the average child. She 
was very religious, and once, when scarcely more than 
five years old, finding a volume of " Les Peres du 
Desert," unlike most children, who would have been 
amused with the visions it contained, she became 
greatly terrified that, should she become too great a 
saint, she might be seized with similar hallucinations I 
She showed from her earliest childhood a marked char- 
acter, and, though brought up in and knowing no other 
sphere than the strict convent with Its daily routine and 
all-pervading religious atmosphere, never became then 
or at any time in after life, even in the faintest degree, 
bigoted in matters of religion. She was a true and ear- 
nest Christian, and as such, beyond the petty distinctions, 
the narrowness of creed and dogma. 

She cared little for riches, and, on receiving a very 
considerable property on the death of her maternal 

6 



grandfather, earnestly begged that it should be charged 
with sufficient legacies to diminish its value. Whether 
or not the less benevolent guardians of the generous 
young woman took this rather unusual view of the mat- 
ter, history does not say, but it is more than probable 
that they put in a place of safety and carefully hus- 
banded the wealth of the deceased M. Dupre until such 
time as his granddaughter became legally its mistress. 
This happened just after she had been taken from the 
convent to live permanently with her father and step- 
mother, Mme. de Fresnes, to whom she became deeply 
attached. She was at this time in the constant care of 
her governess, and faithful friend in after life, Mile. 
Aufroy, and very busy completing her education, the 
religious portion of which was under the celebrated cure 
of St. Paul. For the next four years she lived the 
quiet, uneventful life of a French girl of her day. Her 
disposition was cheerful and happy, full of natural 
gaiety. She played with her pets, worked a piece of 
impossible embroidery, performed upon the harpsichord 
with more than indifferent skill, and took some pleasure 
in learning the latest minuet de la Cour. Happy for 
her that in the fearful events of her later life she was 
able to gain a few minutes' retrospective pleasure amid 
the horrors surrounding her ! She passed much time in 
devotion and in acts of charity to the poor people on 
the estate, to whom she dispensed alms mingled with 
gentle admonition. She preferred to live in the country, 
sharing the hobby of her grandfather, the chancellor, 
with whom she passed many hours at Fresnes, pottering 
about in those gardens of which he was so fond and 
proud. His death, which happened when she was thir- 
teen, was a great shock to her excitable religious tem- 
perament. Some of the letters passing between Hen- 
riette and the chancellor, written between 1743-47, are 
still in existence, or, at least, copies of them, showing 
how her mind, even at that tender age, was taken up 
and employed in serious reading. 



lai^dtiame tie Eafapette 

Unfortunately, it is impossible to find details of her 
marriage in 1755, when, on the fifth day of January, 
she wedded Jean Paul Francois, Due d'Ayen, after the 
death of his father in 1793, Due de Noailles. He was 
born on the sixteenth of October, 1739, being thus 
nearly two years her junior, and lived until 1824, hav- 
ing managed to escape from France during the Terror. 
They were a happy couple, and she was tenderly at- 
tached to him; living after their marriage at the Hotel 
de Noailles, in the rue St. Honore, the Paris home of 
the family, where that patriarch, Adrien, second Mare- 
chal de Noailles, gathered round him each year all the 
living members of the family. 

Though the society of the day was as brilliant and 
entertainingly wicked as heart could wish, and the rank 
of her husband's family, and his intimacy at court made 
it almost unheard of, young Mme. de Noailles lived a 
life of nunlike seclusion. The health and recluse habits 
of her mother-in-law were ill adapted for gaiety, and 
the bride only went to court for her presentation, or on 
a few formal occasions. Not so M. le Due d'Ayen. 
He differed from the rest of the family, and, while Hen- 
riette pursued her domestic occupations under the shel- 
tering wing of her father and mother-in-law, he danced 
attendance on the monarch and the gorgeous throng 
surrounding him. It is a matter for conjecture that per- 
haps the young Duchesse d'Ayen would have been wiser 
had she followed more intimately the pursuits and in- 
clinations of her husband. 

She was one of those to whom the pleasures of the 
imagination were more enjoyable than the actual hap- 
penings of everyday life. Affairs outside her little circle 
presented no temptation, and when a butterfly friend 
dropped in brimming with the latest gossip, a vagary 
more than heretofore wanton, of la Dubarri or her 
predecessors, a surmise as to the probable successor, a 
new bon mot, Mme. d'Ayen breathed a silent breath of 
thankful relief — after the visitor had departed — that 

8 



of necessity her career was not that of her friend. Her 
life was at once lofty and introspective; her ideas very 
peculiar, her prejudices strong. Sheltered by the his- 
tory-stained walls of the Hotel de Noailles, she passed 
the first two years after her marriage. At the end of 
this time a son was born. 

Describing her after this happening, Adrienne says : 
" The fervour of her first maternal passion was greater 
than can be imagined," and yet, when twelve months 
later her idolized son died, her faith in Heaven was so 
great that, " absorbed in the thought of her child's eter- 
nal bliss, she says that she often found herself believing 
that there was no greater saint in heaven." That the 
heir of the Noailles was no more meant little to her; 
she cared nothing for worldly pomp and state, and her 
child was now beyond temptation. 

To follow in detail all the trivial events of her life 
at this period would be tedious and uninteresting. What 
must be borne in mind Is that she was a woman of ex- 
traordinary character, strictly truthful, sincere, and, be- 
fore all, naturally religious, but not in the faintest degree 
bigoted or Intolerant of others. She possessed the most 
passionate love for her children and relatives, even to 
the most remote degrees. These latter were her most 
strongly marked traits. She was " tenderly attached to 
her husband," but he was more than secondary to her 
children and family. 

She had, in course of time, four daughters : Louise, 
afterwards married to her cousin, the Vicomte de 
Noailles, born November ii, 1758, and her mother's 
"greatest comfort"; Adrienne, Mme. de Lafayette, 
born November 2, 1759; Mme. de Thesan, 1763, who 
was the first of that devoted family to pass from this 
world; and Pauline, 1766, married to the Marquis de 
Grammont. It was a grief, renewed at the birth of each 
little girl, that there was yet no heir to bear the proud 
old title. But, resigned to a divine will, Mme. d'Ayen 
was utterly happy In the society of these merry little 



!3t^aliame tie Eafapette 

girls, to whose care and education she devoted herself, 
heart and soul. No slight task, for the four minds were 
very dissimilar in their tastes ; though, even at that early 
age, remarkable for that wonderful love of each other 
which so distinguished them in after life. The simple, 
healthy existence they led might have been that of the 
humblest bourgeoisie. Their mother was the soul, the 
embodiment of domesticity, and perhaps it is due to 
this fact that she did not have much of the society of 
her husband; for, as she confessed in after life, she some- 
what neglected les moyens de plaire, which would 
have made her personality and society more necessary 
to the due. There was fault on both sides : on one, the 
fault of too much goodness; on the other, a nature bet- 
ter timed to the airs of court life than those of the simple 
home melody. The more sceptical and not devout mind 
of the due was inclined to attribute sundry suggestions 
and wishes of his wife to the promptings of the clergy 
and her confessor; this he resented, and consequently a 
slight barrier grew between them, restricting the inti- 
macy of everyday life, though in any matter of impor- 
tance he was always at the call of Mme. d'Ayen. 

Her promising little family of four, from ten years 
of age to the infant scarce five, was brought up in her 
own company, under her constant care and supervision, 
very unusual for the children of a great family in those 
days, as was the education they received — part of which 
was entrusted to Mile. Marin, but mostly directed and 
in every detail overlooked by their mother. They were 
taught to dictate letters before they were able to read 
or write. They learned the " Petit Catechism de 
Fleury," and the " Grand Catechism " of the same au- 
thor; an abridgment of the Old Testament, and the 
" Elements de Geographic," which they studied on the 
map; the " Magasin des Enfants," and a great many 
stories from mythology were read to them by their 
mother. Strange as it may seem, they were never told 
any fairy tales or ghost stories, such as form the food 

lO 



^ttti l^er f amilp 

of most infant minds. Anecdotes from the Old Testa- 
ment, little stories of the trivial happenings in the con- 
vent where Mme. d'Ayen had passed her childhood, 
related by her old nurse, served to amuse them and 
passed the play hours of these easily pleased httle 
people. It was a most unusual education in more ways 
than one, especially for that day and generation. A 
vein of mental indolence in their mother prevented her 
ever being " too thorough in what she undertook." She 
possessed " much vivacity of disposition," allowed her 
children to argue and question, though not in a forward 
manner, and at one time remarked " that they were less 
obedient than most children of their age," to which 
Adrienne replied: " That may be, madame, because you 
allow us to argue and reason with you, but you shall see 
that at fifteen we shall be more obedient than other 
children." 

" There was nothing absolute in her way of teach- 
ing, guiding, or correcting us; she thought she had done 
nothing when she had not thoroughly convinced the 
child she was speaking to, and, though she was naturally 
indolent and too little accustomed to repress the vivacity 
of her temper, she would listen to her children's reason- 
ings with praiseworthy kindness. Her dislike for char- 
latanry and pedantry gave her, perhaps, too great a 
dislike for order and method; this was sometimes a 
cause of loss of time." 

In 1768, that fearful scourge of the times, small- 
pox, laid Mme. d'Ayen low. For days her life was 
despaired of, and the birth of a son, while she was in 
this terrible condition, complicated matters to such a 
degree that, at times, the doctors would promise no hope 
of recovery. She suffered terribly, and the long-hoped- 
for and desired heir received but scant attention at the 
hands of his father, who scarcely left the bedside of 
his wife. She was not told the nature of her illness, 
and once expressing a wish to see her children, their 
father instantly had them brought to the bedside, though 

II 



!3l^diidme tie 3lafa|[iette 

they had never had the smallpox, and the risk they ran 
was appalling to contemplate. Luckily, the little ones 
suffered no ill effect. The pleasure of again seeing them 
cheered the sufferer, who from that time began to mend. 
The idea of death is a difficult one for the childish mind 
to grasp, and all the anxieties of their mother's nearly 
fatal illness made less impression on them than, when 
her convalescence allowed her to be moved, they saw 
her for the first time sitting in her window disfigured, 
as then were the victims of the disease, and were told 
that they would never see " chere maman as she used 
to be. . . ." " None of the misfortunes which have 
since befallen me have ever effaced the remembrance of 
our sorrow, at the thought that we should never see my 
mother as she had formerly been," Adrienne wrote at a 
later date. 

It was the will of Heaven, and Mme. d'Ayen did 
not repine over her lost beauty, but devoted herself to 
the last born, whose arrival completed the family. She 
had never cared for the world and its gaieties, and the 
welfare and education of her children occupied her to 
the exclusion of all else. She was, indeed, a devoted 
mother. 

In the summer they went, not half frequently enough 
from their point of view, to visit their grandfather, the 
Marechal de Noailles, whose health obliged him to live 
most of the time at Saint Germain-en-Laye. He always 
received them with the most stately and cordial polite- 
ness, walked with them in the beautiful forest near by, 
which then existed in all its famed sylvan loveliness. 
" In the evening he cheerfully squandered time and 
money playing loto for their amusement." They often 
went on hilarious picnics to Meudon, rode donkeys as 
far as Mont Valerian, on which occasions those noble 
beasts of burden usually bore themselves with the stately 
grace and deliberation characteristic of their race. With 
her five charges — Mile. Saron, the niece of Mme. 
d'Ayen, and the Miles. Montmerail — Mile. Marin had 

12 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

her hands full. This excellent lady, " in full panoply," 
directed the cavalcade with the generalship of a mare- 
chal de camp, though it must be admitted that her 
forces were not distinguished for their discipline and 
obedience. " She was a tiny person, blonde, pinched, 
touchy, and devoted to her duties, punctilious in their 
performance. Once mounted on her donkey, she abso- 
lutely lost her sang froid, and appeared so wild-eyed, 
scared, and so stiff that you could not look at her with- 
out being seized with an irrepressible desire for mirth, 
which made her angry; though what angered her the 
most was the peal of childish laughter greeting her ears 
when she tumbled off her steed, an acrobatic exhibition 
which she seldom failed to give at least once on each of 
these excursions. As the pace of her steed was not 
rapid, and she fell upon the grass, she sustained no 
injury, and the frolicsome squadron laughingly filed by 
her; and, did one of the riders pause to aid the morti- 
fied lady to rise, her sole recompense was ill humour 
and a scolding." 

Once every year, in the autumn, did Mme. d'Ayen 
proceed with her numerous family and retinue to visit 
her father at Fresnes. These visits lacked the exuber- 
ance of those paid to the Marechal de Noailles, as M. 
d'Agusseau was very deaf and very old, and, though a 
dear old gentleman, lacked the gaiety of heart which 
generally distinguished members of the family of 
Noailles. The atmosphere of Fresnes had always been 
scholastic, severe, and rather conventual in its routine, 
and it is probably to this early environment and training 
that Mme. d'Ayen owed her ideas of life and nunlike 
manner of living. But any severity which might have 
chilled the young children was dispelled by the devotion 
of the third wife of M. d'Agusseau, whom the children 
called " stepmother," or " grandmere," the relationship 
being somewhat nebulous owing to the frequent nuptials 
of this much married old gentleman. They paid visits 
to M. de Saron at Saron, and sometimes to other 

13 



iSt^abame tie ^afapette 

relatives, but these visits were always brief, as Mme. 
d'Ayen did not like to be separated from those of her 
family who were too young to go, or, in the case of her 
husband's father, too old to travel. She was known to 
have possessed a great love for the country, which she 
always preferred to a town life, but some of the many 
scruples ever agitating her mind made her deny herself 
the pleasure of living among " green fields and pastures 
new." She was one of those women utterly miserable 
unless surrounded by family and relatives to every 
degree. 

But the children did not suffer. Their life was one 
of mild and pleasant monotony. They had their little 
pleasures and amusements with the other children of 
their age, and were extraordinarily fond of playing in 
the beautiful gardens of the Hotel de Noailles, one of 
the finest in Paris, celebrated for its marvellously kept 
flower beds, formal and prim, as the taste of the day 
demanded. Between these wound devious walks bor- 
dered with trim, clipped hedges and neat paths, an ideal 
spot for hide and seek. A stately flight of steps, thir- 
teen in number, led from the house into this charming 
spot, and on either side three rows of trees threw the 
drowsy charm of their shadows upon those who dallied 
beneath their branches. At the foot of the garden 
stretched the magnificent vista of the Tuileries, and, 
where to-day the rush and never-ceasing stream of car- 
riages flows to and fro on the rue de Rivoli, the garden 
wall bounded the promenade of those who walked in 
that stately garden. On the right was the famous con- 
vent of the Feuillans, where the unfortunate Louis and 
Marie Antoinette fled on that dreadful day when roy- 
alty fell. 

How different is it all to-day! How few passing 
through this neighbourhood ever give even a thought 
to the memory of those who have lived and loved in 
those quaint courts, those narrow and stilted houses ! 
Should the ghosts of past events gather in that tortuous 

14 



^nti l$n f amilp 

street where the pale wraith of Marie Antoinette is 
recalled by the sight of the busy charettes, once used 
for so sinister a purpose; where the bloodthirsty 
Jacobins conspired to ruin their country; where the 
cannons of young Bonaparte swept the rebellious citizens 
from the steps of Saint Roch ; where ten thousand things 
have happened — what a concourse there would be as the 
" witching hour " rang from the storm-beaten bell which 
alone marks the flight of time: unchanged, indif- 
ferent ! 

At the beginning of the day Mme. d'Ayen's first 
care was for her children. Pausing each morning on 
her way to hear mass at the Jacobins' nearly opposite, 
she embraced them tenderly and listened to their eager 
prattle, for they never failed to place themselves in her 
path, and would every afternoon desert their play in 
the garden rather than miss their mother on her way 
to the church of Saint Roch. At three o'clock she dined 
with them, and, on the days when she did not attend 
mass, they followed her to her bedroom, a spacious 
apartment, " hung in crimson satin damask, embroidered 
in gold," and containing one of those awe-inspiring beds 
of the epoch. 

" The duchesse usually seated herself in a large easy- 
chair (bergere) near the fireplace, having conveniently 
at hand her snuff-box and knitting and her books. The 
four daughters grouped themselves around her, the 
eldest occupying chairs, the younger ones stools, all 
disputing pleasantly for the coveted place near the 
hergerey Of this time, Adrlenne writes: 

" My younger sisters did not see my mother at the 
same hours we did, and, notwithstanding the number 
of her children, each received the care and moral educa- 
tion which best suited her character. As for me, I can 
say that she always brought back within the bounds of 
reason my overexcited Imagination; and though I must 
confess that my mother allowed me when I was a child 
to perceive her approbation too well, nevertheless she 

15 



!9l^a2iame ht Safapette anii !^et family 

knew how to correct my pride by expressing my faults 
in a manner so true and energetic that she would each 
time strike my heart to its inmost core." 

Strange woman! from her phenomenally fertile 
imagination she derived more pleasure than if she had 
been an actor on the stage of that spectacular period I 
Expecting, through the goodness of her heart, similar 
traits in others, she, alas ! but too often found the feet 
of her idols the most common clay. Alas, indeed I In 
common with those of her disposition, her judgment of 
the follies of her time was severe. " The sight of evil 
always pained her, but the sight of good filled her with 
profound joy." 



i6 




MLiLE.^DE LA FAYETTE 
From a rare print in the collection of the author 



CHAPTER II 

LOVING her children as she did, and never fail- 
ing in wifely obedience, it seems strange that 
for many months Mme. d'Ayen utterly refused 
to listen to the prayers, the wishes, the entreaties 
of husband and relatives, and give her consent to the 
proposals of marriage, made on the part of M. de La- 
fayette by his guardian, M. de Segur, for the hand of 
one of her daughters. When this proposition was made, 
" neither Louise nor Adrienne had reached twelve years 
of age." 

Marie Jean Paul Roch Ives Motier, Marquis de 
Lafayette, came of a family honourably known in the 
history of his country. While perhaps not so powerful 
or prominent as the de Noailles, being less at court, and 
ever preferring the camp to a life of silken ease, they 
had long been marked for their bravery in battle, wis- 
dom in council, and those principles of justice and right 
which they ever practised. As far back as the four- 
teenth century, the Sieurs Lafayette were distinguished 
for their justice and kindness to the peasants of their 
estates in Auvergne. They were hardy warriors, too, 
more than one leading the troops of his country to vic- 
tory. In the reign of Charles VI, the Marechal de La- 
fayette " defeated the Duke of Clarence, Lieutenant- 
General of Normandie at the Battle of Beauge " 
(1421), says the old chronicle. Of the women, much 
may be written. The first to appear prominently in the 
history of her times was Louise Angelique Motier de 
Lafayette, for a long time maid of honour to Anne of 
Austria, and — one says — greatly beloved by that 

17 



^Sr^atiame tie Eafapette 

princess for her good sense and staunch fidelity, being 
a moral balance for the somewhat flighty, though beauti- 
ful, queen, whose love for adulation and flattery carried 
her beyond the bounds proscribed by court etiquette. In 
the many and oft-recurring disagreements between Anne 
and her peevish, jealous husband, Louis XIII — the silly 
son of a foolish mother — who was always inclined to 
listen to the slightest breath of gossip about his wife, 
with the charming trait of making mountains out of 
molehills, Louise often played the part of peacemaker, 
restoring the royal pair to harmony for the time being. 
Attracted by her good sense, outspoken candour, com- 
bined with an utter absence of servility, not to add the 
softening influence of her beauty, the king proceeded to 
fall in love with his wife's dame d'honneur. It is said 
that he expressed sentiments to Mile, de Lafayette in 
which Cupid played more part than the platonic feelings 
of propriety demanded. Unlike her namesake of the 
following reign, Louise had no desire to be one of the 
jewels of her monarch's crown, and, resolutely declining 
the proffered devotion, in 1637 retired to the convent, 
and " no coaxings on the part of Anne of Austria, or 
entreaties from the king, could induce her to come back 
to the court." 

Such is one story to account for her retirement from 
the world, but even the scandal-mongers of the court 
unite in admitting that cette attache etait tout dans 
I'esprit, proving that the thirteenth Louis was not of 
the same temperament as his illustrious father ! On 
looking deeper, one learns that Mile, de Lafayette had 
influence with the monarch, whom she constantly urged 
to assert himself and throw off the yoke of Richelieu. 
To such a degree was she feared by the powerful minis- 
ter that he finally obliged her, by his intrigues, to re- 
tire from the court with Mme. de Sancy, " who had 
been the confidant of this innocent passion." 

There are many tales. Probably it was the case of 
the genie, who, after being released from his bottle, 

18 



^iiti f^tt ifamilp 

grew to such terrifying proportions that his liberator 
trembled at the consequences which his action might 
entail! Louise had a very powerful following at the 
court. She was the daughter of Jean de Lafayette and 
his wife, Marguerite de Bourbon Busset, the latter a 
descendant a la main gauche of the Bourbon Montpen- 
sier. Her grandmother, a de Bourbon Busset, Mme. 
de Miosson, was the governess of Henri IV and the 
confidant of the poisoned Jeanne d'Albret, whose death, 
in its day, shook the courts of Europe with muttered 
scandal. The Bishop of Limoges was Louise's uncle; 
she was cousin german to the Marquise de Senece, 
lady in waiting to the queen, and second cousin to the 
famous Capuchin, Joseph de Tremblay. The gov- 
erness of the maids of honour, Mile, de Polignac, was 
a near relative. It will be seen that in family influence 
at the court she far surpassed Mile, de Hautefort, 
toward whom, previously, the temperate fancy of the 
king had been somewhat attracted. It was with the 
kind idea of replacing Mile, de Hautefort, as inimical 
to his plans, that Monseigneur the Cardinal Richelieu 
first brought Louise definitely under the royal eye. 
Owing to the poverty of the family, and the impossi- 
bility of providing her with a marriage portion, Louise 
had, from her earliest childhood, been destined for the 
convent. She was a young person of the type some- 
times described as " plump and pleasing," being a 
" brunette with shiny eyes, rather inclined to embon- 
point in figure without much dignity of carriage; shy 
and sedate in manner and speech; given to sentiment, 
poetry, and meditation: and preferring a secluded life 
to courtly gayety." It was one evening, when seated 
beneath the becoming radiance of the wax lights, coax- 
ing melody from the responsive strings of a harp, and 
singing one of those mediocre compositions, which it 
was the pride of the king to write and set to indifferent 
tunes, that the wily cardinal drew the attention of his 
master to the charms of the young maid of honour. 

19 



What more could the vanity of a king desire? Espe- 
cially one so vain of his musical accomplishments as 
Louis ? That Mile, de Lafayette did not retire without 
due consideration we have proof. True to the tradi- 
tions of her sex, Louise never remained in the same 
frame of mind for two days at a time. She was the 
shuttlecock of intrigue. Her relatives of all degrees 
opposing the plots of the cardinal, with counterplots 
ad infinitum. As for the king: " Angelique etait sa joie 
et sa couronne," and during those conversations which 
they had in a little room off the antechamber of the 
queen, he " begged her " to remain. But Louise was 
superstitious, and Mile. Thommason, a " dresser to the 
queen," informed Carre " that Lafayette was suffering 
from agonies of indecision : dreading that some per- 
sonal catastrophe might befall her ! " Every little vexa- 
tious incident was now interpreted as a sign of divine 
wrath at her indecision. " For instance, this morning 
Lafayette came into my apartment," says Thommason, 
*' And said that God drew her to a religious life, by in- 
flicting on her countless little mortifications; she then 
showed me a little pimple which had appeared on her 
right cheek during the night, ' As a sign,' she said, * that 
God is displeased at my delay.' " That was the end! 
Feminine vanity proved more powerful than the con- 
tradictory pleadings of king, cardinal, and relatives: 
the fate of Louise was sealed ! 

It may be that when Mile, de Lafayette found that 
her influence with the king was not so powerful that he 
would, at her bidding, free himself from the thrall of 
his eminence, she developed scruples of conscience and 
retired from the world. At any rate, even from the 
convent, she was a source of trouble to the cardinal, 
who accusing her confessor, Pere Caussin, of still urg- 
ing her to intrigue against him, as he had done while 
at court, had the worthy Caussin banished to lower 
Brittany, where he was beyond the circle of the court 
and its influences. The details of the intrigues used by 

20 



^nti ^et jpamiip 

the powerful minister are not all recorded, but an old 
writer tells that " When Father Caussin, the Confes- 
sor of the King, asked, ' on the part of Mile, de La- 
fayette, the permission of the King to retire to a con- 
vent,' the King was very much upset; he cried, and 
complained that she should wish to leave him; but 
afterward his great piety made him appreciate her 
motives, and he said : ' She is my well beloved, but 
if God calls her to a religious life, I shall place no 
obstacle in her way.' " So Louise bade farewell to 
her monarch, and lived for the next twenty-seven 
years in the odour of sanctity, dying, in 1665, at the 
convent which she had founded at Chaillot. Much 
to the disgust of the cardinal, Louis had gone several 
times to the convent in the disguise of a private gentle- 
man, accompanied by one of his trusted attendants, to 
confide in the ear of Louise his petty troubles, and to 
ask her advice, for she possessed a love of truth, pleas- 
ing to the king, and equally dreaded by the cardinal. 
Their interviews were usually conducted in the presence 
of a third party, who remained out of earshot, and, 
consequently, through his spies, the cardinal became 
aware of what was going on. His anger was un- 
bounded, and he immediately remonstrated with the 
king on the scandal of his clandestine visits to the con- 
vent. Thus did the wily schemer overreach himself, 
for " one wet and stormy day in the month of Decem- 
ber, 1637, Louis XIII threw all the gossips and scan- 
dal-mongers into greater perplexity and confusion than 
the city had known since the days of the League . . . 
in the full pomp of royalty, escorted by his guards and 
attended by his favourite courtiers, Louis drove lei- 
surely through the Faubourg Saint Antoine toward the 
Convent of Saint Mary of the Visitation. ... It was, 
however, the unforeseen result of his (the Cardinal's) 
machinations; he had sent the King an Intercepted let- 
ter from the Queen to some member of her family; and 
as France was then at war with Spain, the Cardinal 

21 



SK^aliame be Hafapette 

wished to fix on the Queen the guilt of corresponding 
with the enemies of the Kingdom. Alarmed and per- 
plexed, the King resolved to consult her in whom he 
reposed the most confidence; but fearing some attempt 
at assassination (a peril which the fate of his father 
kept ever before his eyes), he ordered that all his 
guards should attend him as an escort. Timidity, not 
passion, was the cause of the unusual state in which he 
visited the convent. 

" Sister Angelique (such was the conventual name 
of Mile, de Lafayette) received her royal lover with 
cold respect, and at first seemed to shrink from the con- 
fidence he forced upon her. The conversation lasted 
four hours, and at last Sister Angelique persuaded the 
King to seek an explanation of the suspicious letter 
from the Queen herself. Circumstances favoured her 
advice; night had fallen; the tempest had increased; 
the road back to Grosbois had become almost impas- 
sable, and Louis ordered his equipage to be driven to 
the Louvre, the residence of his deserted wife. 

" Anne of Austria received her husband with sur- 
prise and pleasure; the dubious phrases in the letter 
were explained to his satisfaction, and he spent the night 
in the palace. . . ." Once again Louise de Lafayette 
had advised her king and queen wisely. The birth 
of Louis XIV the following year brought great joy to 
the king and country at large, for after twenty-three 
years it seemed a miracle that Heaven should answer 
the prayers of the unhappy queen of Louis XIIL 

The next of these illustrious women, Marie Made- 
leine Pioch de la Vergne, was born in 1633. Her 
father, Aymer de la Vergne, governor of Havre de 
Grace; her mother, beautiful Marie de Pena, of a cele- 
brated Provengal family, famous in the annals of that 
land of song and sunshine. Marie was educated in a 
manner far more thorough and elegant than the young 
girls of her time, showing wonderful proficiency in 
Latin, in which language she, after three months' 

22 



^nii ^tt familp 

study, explained a passage which had been the cause of 
" great argument between her teachers, Menange and 
Father Rapin, proving both those excellent gentlemen 
to be in the wrong! " 

So smitten was the susceptible Menange with the 
precocity, maybe the charms, of his fair pupil, that he 
promptly fell in love, addressing to her verses in choice 
Latin, which, with his devotion, were calmly ignored 
by the young lady, who seems to have been blessed with 
an extremely cool head on this and all other occasions. 
De Retz, who while imprisoned at Metz had the pleas- 
ure of meeting her, says she was very pretty and ami- 
able, and though he was much attracted by her, she 
treated him " with great rigour." 

In the year 1665, at the age of twenty-two, Marie 
de la Vergne married the Marquis de Lafayette, who 
scarcely appears to have been the equal of his brilliant 
wife, and, after the first few years, played but little part 
in her life. Of this union, there were born two sons 
and a daughter, one of the former being the direct an- 
cestor of that Lafayette who did so much for the 
American cause; the other, an erratic and careless 
youth, who " either lost or gave away his mother's 
manuscripts ! " Her sons were not with her after their 
earliest childhood; her daughter, a great comfort and 
pleasure, though her marriage with M. de la Tremouille 
of necessity somewhat separated her from her moth- 
er. Mme. de la Tremouille was a woman of unusual 
generosity, for, inheriting a large share of the Lafay- 
ette property, she very willingly " lent herself to an ar- 
rangement by which the estates, which the heirs of the 
name of Lafayette were anxious to preserve, returned 
to those of the family who had continued to reside in 
their native province." Thus, the family estates in Au- 
vergne remained intact, and all, including the manor 
of the Marechal de Lafayette, called Saint Romain, 
descended in a direct line to the Marquis de Lafayette, 
who asked in marriage the hand of Mile, de NoaiUes. 

23 



flr^atiame tie Jlafapette 

By her marriage, Marie de la Vergne became the sister- 
in-law of Louise de Lafayette, now Mere Angelique, 
Superior of the Convent of Chaillot, and it was while 
visiting there that she met the widowed queen of 
Charles I of England and her daughter Henriette, 
afterward Duchesse d'Orleans. This princess then, 
and after her marriage to the king's brother, showed 
great friendship for the talented yet lonely authoress. 
Mme. de Lafayette had already begun to write; pub- 
lishing anonymously, in 1660, a tale called " Mme. 
de Montpensier," which so pleased the Duchesse 
d'Orleans, that she said to the author: "You write 
well; write, and I will give you the material for good 
memoirs." Mme. de Lafayette did so, and in the amus- 
ing account of the little court has the ingenuous remark, 
" that it was now and then difficult to tell all the truth 
properly, without offending the princesse." The sud- 
den and mysterious death of Mme. d'Orleans brought 
these gay little tales to a sadly abrupt finish and, in the 
arms of her favourite lady in waiting, poor agonised 
Henriette breathed her last. It is pleasant to know that 
she was always affectionately remembered by Henri- 
ette's children : in after years one of them, the Duchess 
of Savoy sent her a substantial remembrance in the 
shape of a " hundred yards of fine velvet, a hundred 
yards of satin with which to line it, and a portrait of 
herself, surrounded with diamonds." 

There are no thrilling or harrowing events in the 
life of this Mme. de Lafayette. She was of a gentle, 
melancholy disposition, hating to write letters to such 
a degree that her devoted friend, Mme. de Sevigne 
complained, and her reply was as follows: '* If I had a 
lover who wanted a letter of mine every morning, I 
should fall out with him for I could not write." This 
seems strange for a woman who was one of the noted 
novelists of her day. Her first tale, " Mme. de Mont- 
pensier," had been a great success, and the urgent re- 
quests of her friends, consisting of that select little 

24 



^nti ^tt f amiip 

coterie of the Hotel Ramboulllet, made her follow with 
the " Princesse de Cleves " and " Mme. de Tendre." 
These novels all tell the same story, " which, in its main 
features is her own, the struggle between duty and pas- 
sion in the heart of a virtuous woman, united to a man 
she cannot love. We do not think Mme. de Lafayette 
went so far as passion, but she had to strive against in- 
difference and ennui, a weary load to bear in married 
life. Too sensible not to feel this strange void ; too vir- 
tuous to indulge herself in forbidden affections, Mme. 
de Lafayette turned to friendship." 

An extraordinary woman, who, " after ten years of 
married life, considered herself old at thirty-two ! " and 
was so truthful that she did not attempt to conceal the 
fact of her age ! who, ever actuated by that love of truth 
to an extent which sometimes led her to say things not 
acceptable to former acquaintances. In some memoirs 
which she wrote about the court of Louis XIV she men- 
tions Racine's " Tragedy of Esther," in which every one 
of that day knew the character of the heroine was meant 
to represent Mme. de Maintenon, saying ironically, 
" that the real Esther was younger, and somewhat less 
precieuse in her piety than Mme. de Maintenon." And 
that lady, then the wife of her king said: " I have not 
been able to keep Mme. de Lafayette's friendship. 
The price she attached to its continuance was too high. 
I have at least shown her that I am as true and firm 
as herself." It would be interesting to know why these 
two clever women could not be friends, as, in early 
times, Mme. de Lafayette had known the insinuating 
young Mme. Scarron, then so obscure, destined to rise 
later to such power and eminence. 

When about thirty-two, she formed that almost his- 
toric friendship with the great Due de la Rochefou- 
cauld, who gave to the world his feelings, his emotions, 
in the guise of those famous " Maxims." A cynical, 
worn-out man, whose youth had been filled with wild 
excesses of pleasure; leaving him at fifty but the ashes, 

25 



lai^atiame tie Eafapette 

which no amount of raking could convert into a genial 
blaze, or even to flicker momentarily! He somewhat 
resembled his fair friend in disposition; "both were 
melancholy and disappointed : he in man's ambition, she 
in woman's tenderness." Their friendship was delicate 
and platonic. Her married life seems " to have been 
cheerless," and in the company of that cynical man she 
found sympathy, gentleness, and a tenderness which 
which came from the heart; not from the brain which 
evolved the " Maxims." 

Her gay, breezy friend, Mme. de Sevigne, ever full 
of the joy of life and perfect health, at this time writes 
to her daughter: " Mme. de Lafayette is going to- 
morrow to a little house near Meudon where she has 
already been. She will spend a fortnight there, to be, 
as it were, suspended between heaven and earth. She 
does not want to talk, nor to answer, nor to listen. She 
is tired of saying good morning and good evening. 
She has fever every day and rest cures her — rest, there- 
fore she requires. I shall go sometimes and see her." 
" M. de la Rochefoucauld is in the chair, you know; 
his sadness is incredible, and it is easy to guess what 
ails him." 

Intimate as they were, there is little doubt that the 
young woman owes some of the charms of her writings 
to her constant association with the mind of the most 
polished man of his day. It was one of her literary 
axioms that " Every period struck out was worth a 
louis d'or, and every word, twenty sous." A candid 
mind and a judicious intellect were considered her great- 
est characteristics. She was praised for her " Divine 
reason." Segrais told her her judgment was superior 
to her wit. " She had the wisdom and gravity of years 
without their aspect or coolness, and La Rochefoucauld, 
a wearied man, but with more imagination and warmth 
than he showed, found in her all he could still care for 
in woman — sweetness and repose." 

Her novel " Zaide " was wonderfully successful, and 
26 



par excellence, the topic of the day. Being written into 
a tragedy by one Boursault, its merits and demerits 
caused such a quarrel between Corneille and Racine 
that all friendship was thenceforth at an end between 
these great writers. Toujours cherchez la femme! 

Two years after this brilliant success, Mme. de La- 
fayette suffered the loss of her devoted friend, La Roche- 
foucauld, who died in 1680. It was a great shock, and 
saddened her already pensive nature. Of the life, dis- 
position, and tastes of her husband we know nothing ; of 
his death, less. He is never mentioned. Scarcely ever 
with his brilliant wife, by whom he was treated with 
indifference almost amounting to contempt, she is said 
to have described him in that homely, romance-killing 
word — " Booby ! " and this, after their first interview, 
where, in appearing to pay his devoirs to his beautiful 
■fiancee, he made an unfortunate entree, a veritable faux 
pas, tripping over an unseen footstool. Though the 
heart of woman ever rejoices in the homage of the 
superior sex, such literal and abject self-abasement be- 
fore her charms, though flattering, was not appreciated 
by the beautiful Marie. Disdainfully she turned from 
her future lord, then scrambling hastily to his feet, with 
the accompaniment of ill-suppressed titters from all, 
and appearing even more awkward than nature had in- 
tended. The estrangement of the couple was well 
known to their friends. As the wits of the day put it, 
the husband 



while madame 



a son terre 
Comme Monsieur son pere. 



Dis romances a Paris 
Avec des beaux esprits. 



a condition equally satisfactory to all parties. 

Deprived of the friendship which had been so much 
to her, Mme. de Lafayette survived the due thirteen 

27 



!3l^atiame tie Eafapettc 

years. She " had long been religious, but austere piety- 
marked the decline of her life. The abbe Duguet, one 
of the Porte Royale writers, was her confessor, or, to 
speak more correctly, her spiritual adviser. He seems 
to have taught her " the hard though sublime lesson 
which it behoves all Christians to learn, submission to 
the Divine will. Sorrow, sickness and sufferings al- 
most intolerable found her calm and resigned, until, in 
her sixtieth year, she gave her soul to God." 

She strongly indicated and defined in her works the 
paths leading to the modern novel, and her friend, Vol- 
taire, proclaims her to be " The first to portray in her 
romances the manners and habits of people of quality 
and fashion." Her stories are little read now, but are 
of interest to the student of social customs, and well 
worth perusal for their charm of language and deli- 
cacy of expression. 

Leaving behind the memory of Marie de la Vergnc 
and her sorrows, time carries the family on till the year 
1732, when that Marquis de Lafayette, whose son was 
to be so distinguished, was born, marrying later, Julie, 
daughter of the Marquis de la Riviere, who brought 
with her an immense dowry. Michel-Louis-Christophe- 
Roch-Gilbert-de Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, Colo- 
nel of the Grenadiers of France, Chevalier of Saint 
Louis, was, as his forebears had been, a soldier, and, 
at the call of his country, tore himself from the arms 
of his young bride, little thinking that the parting was 
eternal. There was a heavy presentiment of evil which 
his tearful bride could not shake off . . . but neither 
dreamed that he was to fall before the cannonade com- 
manded by one Philips, an English officer, whom fate, 
many years after, in America, brought face to face with 
young Lafayette, the son of the man for whose death 
he had been directly responsible. 

There has always been a vagueness about the exact 
time and place of the death of this Marquis de Lafay- 
ette. All historians giving it " At the battle of Minden," 

28 



3(^nti ^et f amilp 

without further detail. It occurred at the first battle of 
Minden, July 13, 1757. There were several " Battles 
of Minden," which was a walled and fortified town, 
first taken by the French, under Generals Broglie and 
Chevert, July 13, 1757, during the Seven Years' War. 
It was recaptured by the combined English and Hano- 
verians, under Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, on 
March 14, 1758. The year following, June, 1759, 
the Due de Broglie again took Minden by assault, and 
the main body of the French army, soon after advanc- 
ing, took up a strong position resting upon that town. 
" By successful manoeuvring, the combined English, 
Prussian and Hanovarlan forces, under Prince Ferdi- 
nand, brought on a general engagement, in which the 
French were defeated, and Minden was next day sur- 
rendered to the allied army." It Is this latter engage- 
ment, the most important of the three actions, which Is 
distinguished as " The battle of Minden." 

It was on the fatal thirteenth of July, 1757, that the 
fair Julie de la Riviere was separated In this world for- 
ever from her adoring young husband. She grieved pite- 
ously, her anguish becoming even more poignant, when, 
on the sixth of September, of the same year ( 1757) , her 
son came into the world where he was to become so 
celebrated — ^where he was never to know the care and 
love of a father. The child was delicate and puny, re- 
quiring constant care and attention; he was the last of 
his line. He was born at Chavlnaic, In Auvergne, which 
had for generations been the home of his people, and 
was, before the Revolution, a large and rich estate. 
The present chateau is in reality somewhat modern, 
being rebuilt in 1701 after a disastrous fire. 

Everything is strangely vague in connection with 
the early life of this famous man; even the room in 
which he first saw the light is unknown. There are 
small traces of his boyhood, which was spent in the care 
of his maiden aunts. There was at one time a picture 
of him, painted as a child; but the devastating tempest 

29 



fll^atiame be Htafapette 

of the Revolution sent flying to the four winds much that 
would have been of inestimable interest to the historian. 
The death of his gentle mother, on the twelfth of April, 
1769, left him an orphan of eleven years and seven 
months, the possessor of an immense fortune, at that 
time in the care of his guardians. Always from his 
birth a delicate and not over bright child, he was a con- 
stant source of care and anxiety to M. de Segur. When 
old enough to choose between the only two careers open 
to a man of his rank — he chose the camp, as his ances- 
tors had done before him. The life at court meant too 
much servility for one of his disposition. He was, how- 
ever, eagerly welcomed and well known there, and 
treated with great friendship by the Dauphiness, Marie 
Antoinette, as well as by many other fair dames, who 
liked to pet ce beau garqon. A good-looking and 
eligible youth, those principles of liberty and repub- 
licanism which, from the first he openly possessed, 
amused the powdered and patched coquettes, who cared 
little if the sentiments were treasonable — ^when the lips 
uttering them were young and comely. By no means a 
prig, though one, almost the only, historical character 
about whom there has not been unearthed a mass of 
scandal, he was a good-looking, rich young noble of the 
time, noted from the first for those convictions which 
later made him so famous. He was on terms of closest 
intimacy with those high at court, which is shown by 
the following story, chronicled by the pen of the versa- 
tile and distinguished Lady Morgan during a visit paid 
to the Lafayette family some years after. 

*' ' Is it true,' " I asked, " ' that you went to a hal 
masque at the opera, with the Queen of France, Marie 
Antoinette, leaning on your arm, the King knowing 
nothing of the matter till after your return? ' " 

" * I am afraid so,' " he said. " ' She was so indis- 
creet, and I can conscientiously add, so innocent; how- 
ever, the Comte d'Artois was of the party, and we were 
all young, enterprising, and pleasure-loving. But, what 

30 



was most absurd in the adventure, was, that when I 
pointed out Mme. du Barri — whose figure and favourite 
domino I knew — the Queen expressed the most anxious 
desire to hear her speak, and bade me intriguer her. 
She answered me flippantly, and I am sure if I had 
offered her my other arm, the Queen would not have 
objected to it; such was the esprit d'aventure at that 
moment in the court of Versailles, and in the head of 
the haughty daughter of Austria.' " 

This must have taken place before his marriage, 
which occurred in April, 1774, as the death of Louis 
XV, on the tenth of May, scarcely a month later, put an 
end to the escapades of la du Barri and other ladies 
attendant on his " well beloved " majesty. Young La- 
fayette, by the way, was one of those at that ill-fated 
supper, from whose effects the monarch never re- 
covered. 

Odd, incomprehensible, as it may seem, the chief 
objection of the Duchesse d'Ayen to the proposed mar- 
riage of her daughter was the large fortune possessed 
by the suitor, whom she considered too young and too 
headstrong to have such wealth at his sole command. 
Though she liked young Lafayette, who had always, in 
a measure, been constantly admitted to her household, 
and could offer no personal objections, she absolutely 
refused to allow him to ally himself with her family, 
fearing for the happiness of her daughter. 

So determined was she, that her complete silence on 
the subject, which she would allow no one to mention, 
much less discuss, in her presence, led to unhappy and 
strained relations with her beloved husband lasting sev- 
eral ijionths and making a most unhappy estrangement 
between them. She, indeed, behaved most foolishly, 
but her husband understood her motives, and replied 
to a friend, who said that his wife had gone too far ever 
to change her mind: " You do not know Mme. d'Ayen; 
however far she may have gone, you will see that she 
will give way like a child if you prove to her that she is 

31 



flt^atiame tie Eafapette anb l^et f amilp 

in the wrong, but, on the other hand, she will never 
yield if she does not see her mistake." 

These words proved a happy augury; after endless 
discussions, pleadings, entreaties from all the relations 
and family connections, after being repeatedly assured 
that her daughter would not leave her for the first years 
of her marriage — ^which stipulation she utterly refused 
to forego — that the marriage itself should only be cele- 
brated at the end of two years, when the education of 
M. de Lafayette would be completed — she yielded her 
consent. Once having consented, she behaved in the 
whole-souled manner so typical of her nature. From 
the moment when the words of assent fell from her 
lips, she took to her heart, and ever afterward became 
the champion and well-wisher of the lonely orphan, 
whom fate had singled out for so much fame and bitter 
suffering. . . . Thus was arranged, unknown to her, 
the destiny of Adrienne de Noailles. 



32 



CHAPTER III 

COULD one, in a dream, or by the magic of the 
shimmering crystal, conjure up a vision of 
Paris as it was in the days of the great Louis, 
how different would it seem ! The narrow, un- 
paved streets, the queerly, gaily dressed people, the 
erection of those splendid hotels, which fashion dictated 
should be the town houses of the rich! The miles of 
gloomy walls, with peeping treetops, marking the co- 
lossal possessions of the church and various monastic 
orders, all, at that moment, in their zenith! In the 
quartier Saint Honore, to put it approximately, from 
what are now the boulevards to the rue de Rivoli, from 
the avenue de I'Opera to the rue Royale, were lands and 
gardens of convents and monasteries. The Filles de 
I'Assomption, whose church and part of the old convent 
now at the corner of the rue Saint Honore and rue Cam- 
bon, opposite the famous cafe Voisin, is one of the few 
remaining traces of religious occupation of the quarter. 
This institution, which dates from the year 1670, ex- 
tended with its gardens to the " Orangerie " of the Tui- 
leries. Next to it, on the same side of that busy street, 
not as it is to-day filled with tiny shops and steep build- 
ings, but rambling and quaint, came the convent of the 
Capuchins ; then, the famous Feuillants, with their sump- 
tuous garden and unlimited wealth. But there were, 
here and there, spaces of unoccupied ground, and, near 
one of these, in 1672, the idlers of the quarter lounged, 
watching the workmen dig, measure, and level th6 
ground, and the arrival of great blocks of stone drawn 
on clumsy, creaking carts, by sturdy white horses, strain- 

33 



0^atiattie tie Hlafapette 

Ing steadily against their loads. After the plans of 
Messire Jean Marot grew the princely house, but alas I 
ere idle curiosity could be fully gratified, a high and 
impervious wall hid the mysteries of the dwelling from 
the world, and what happened after was a sealed book. 
This hotel was the property of the Comtesse de Foix, 
one of that celebrated family whose tree boasts the name 
of the illustrious Gaston, long dust. Under her reign, 
it was the scene of courtly hospitality. We, to-day, have 
little idea of the state and magnificence of the houses of 
that time. This hotel extended from the present rue 
d'Alger — then non-existent — to the rue Saint Roch, a 
distance of between six hundred and fifty and seven 
hundred feet: to the gardens of the Tuileries, across 
the rue de Rivoli — then not cut. It contained a cour 
d'honneur, a basse cour — stable or back yard — an in- 
terior court, a salle des gardes — guard room — a 
salle de dais, found only in houses of the greatest 
pretensions, an antichambre des valets de chambre, 
and a salle a manger for the officers, besides, of 
course, the ordinary rooms and apartments on an 
equal scale of magnificence. To give some slight idea 
of its size, it was wider, longer, and in every detail 
ten times as magnificent as the palace de I'Elysee. It 
was almost a small village, and once within its walls the 
outside world ceased to exist. Though plain and ugly 
on the side of the rue Saint Honore, the fagade on the 
garden was superb. From the centre, a wide sweep of 
steps led into a beautiful garden, so large, that one of 
the later possessors used, on the day of Saint Hubert, 
to astonish the quarter by having a hunt, fox, horses, 
hounds, all in full cry, the barking of the dogs and the 
music of the horns being heard far away, while now and 
then a glimpse of pink-coated riders might be seen by 
those peeping over the neighbouring wall, as the hunt 
tore around the prim old gardens, and this, within four 
walls, in the heart of Paris! Magnificent trees shaded 
the lawns and flower beds; birds flew and chattered in 

34 




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the waving branches; an occasional rabbit burrowed 
under the walls and showed a scared, shy head for an 
instant ere whisking away whence he came. The gar- 
dens of the Tuilerles, then veritable gardens and not 
the plain of gravel and stunted trees now left, sloped 
from the garden wall to the river. It was a scene of 
rural beauty, now hard to imagine, when stone walls 
bound the horizon on every side. 

Many vicissitudes were the fate of this stately 
dwelling. Seventeen years after Its erection by the fam- 
ily of de Foix, it passed into the hands of one Poussort, 
an uncle of the great financier, Colbert, of whose meth- 
ods there have been many and diverse opinions. Like 
most of his belief, Colbert used his position to further 
the interests of his friends and protegees. Under the 
occupancy of Poussort, the " Hotel Poussort " was the 
centre of much activity in intrigue, of great show and 
splendour. For three years, only, the hotel belonged to 
the relative of Colbert, and then passed into the hands 
of that d'Arne d'Armenonville, councillor and bon 
vivant, whose petits soupers were enjoyed by those bid- 
den to take part in the sub rosa proceedings. By pur- 
chase. It then became the property of the Due de 
Noallles, in 17 ii, and this family was by far the most 
illustrious of Its owners. The first Marechal de Noallles 
had hitherto lived near by, on the other side of the rue 
Saint Honore, probably at the hotel of Mme. de 
Noallles, whose family, the Cosse-Brlsslacs, then dwelt 
in the neighbourhood. At this period France was at 
her greatest excess of luxury, her most profligate, most 
witty moment. Everything was dared. Rank, fashion, 
wealth — there was nothing to be desired; no higher 
aspiration could be Imagined than the state, the rev- 
enues, and officers of the de Noallles. 

The foremost artists of the day were summoned to 
decorate the house; its walls hung with the richest silk; 
the retinue of servants princely; the state almost royal. 
The Hotel de Noallles remained in the family until 

35 



la^dbame ht Eafapette 

after the Restoration, in 1814, but underwent many vi- 
cissitudes. It was famous for its picture gallery. In- 
side the walls was a sumptuous private chapel. Its 
stables could shelter half a regiment. Besides the Hotel 
de Noailles, there was the " petit hotel de Noailles," in 
itself as large as an ordinary Paris house of to-day, 
with its five or six apartments. But, alas 1 the grand old 
place is swept away, and no trace is left of that " vast " 
Hotel de Noailles, so well known to its contemporaries. 
Confiscated in the Revolution, it mercifully survived 
the pillage and torch, which was the fate of so many, 
and of the church and convent of the Feuillants, adjoin- 
ing. Under the Empire, it was occupied by Brune, one 
of the three consuls, after he had ceased to live in the 
Pavilleon de Flore, which Napoleon desired for his sole 
occupancy. Brune continued to occupy the hotel despite 
the efforts of the de Noailles to regain possession of 
their property. After the Restoration and the return of 
the Due de Noailles from Switzerland, he at once pro- 
ceeded to take possession of his own, routing horse, 
foot and dragoons, the archtresor de I'Empire, the 
Due de Plaisance, who was obliged to make a hurried 
departure! Alas! the Due de Noailles was a ruined 
man, almost nothing remained of his princely fortune, 
and the magnificence of his dwelling was far in advance 
of his finances. He lived quietly in one corner of the 
" petit hotel " on the street where, with a few domestics, 
he strove to gather the remnants of what had formerly 
been his. What a change I but the '* petit hotel " was 
large enough for him to give an ample apartment each 
to his sister-in-law, Mme. de Montagu, and his grand- 
daughter, Virginie de Lasteyrie, and their families. 
What pathetic memories for that saddened and ruined 
family, now so scattered, as they idled through the echo- 
ing apartments, the long gallery of pictures looking 
down in stolid rows upon the havoc, of which they had 
been the unwitting spectators ! Mme. de Montagu and 
Virginie roamed in those lovely gardens, where the for- 

36 



mer had played as a child, though Virginie's childhood 
had few such pleasant souvenirs, and to both there 
seemed to be a spirit of peaceful resignation, a finality 
in each walk, each hour passed in the well-remembered 
rooms — a past dead, without hope of resurrection. The 
day, the life, the generation to which belonged the Ho- 
tel de Noailles in all its pride was gone, never to re- 
turn. It was typical of the obliterated ancien regime, 
to which was written in ineradicable letters — FINIS. 

But the troubled condition of France was far from 
being at an end. As a thunder-clap came the news of 
Bonaparte's return. Once again did the Due de 
Noailles return to Switzerland, having before his de- 
parture sold the Hotel de Noailles to an eccentric 
Englishman, who cared nothing for the expressed de- 
sires, wishes, or hints on the part of the government, 
that it again desired the Hotel de Noailles. Sir Fran- 
cis Henry Egerton, of the family of the " dues de 
Bresgewater " (Bridgewater), was one of those Eng- 
lish " milords," so dear to the creators of French fic- 
tion, so seldom found elsewhere. He was, besides his 
other titles, a *' Prince of the Holy Roman Empire," 
and well known at Paris for a decade. One of Napo- 
leon's pet schemes, a more than cherished project, was 
the cutting through and completion of the rue de Riv- 
oli as it appears to-day. Parts of this he was able to 
accomplish, by sacrificing the gardens of the former 
convents of the Capuchins and Feuillants, but when he 
desired to trespass on the grounds of Sir Francis that 
gentleman " sent the master of the world walking." 
Again, when the allies had entered Paris, and the Duke 
of Saxe-Coburg " manifested a desire, in virtue of a 
military requisition, to be lodged in the Hotel with all 
his suite," Sir Francis armed his thirty servants, took a 
fusil de chasse, and when the duke presented him- 
self replied that he would resist force by force ! Before 
this " thoroughly British eccentricity," the duke retired, 
but a Russian general, aide-de-camp to the Czar, " flat- 

37 



!^atiame tie Hafatiette 

tered himself that he would be more lucky." Sir Henry 
again armed his thirty servants and gravely harangued 
the officer. " I have travelled much," he said, " but 
always, wherever I have drunk, eaten or lodged, I have 
paid. You are nothing more than a brigand in my 
eyes." The Russian general departed in search of re- 
enforcements, and did not return. Once, seized with 
a desire to see his native land again. Sir Henry decided 
to leave Paris. For six months the important prepara- 
tions went on; finally everything was ready. The de- 
parture had the appearance of an exploring expedition 
bound for the wilds. The entire quarter assembled 
one fine morning to see the last of the eccentric English- 
man whose actions had furnished the theme of many a 
tale. He departed, escorted by his thirty servants and 
followed by a train of fifteen heavily loaded carriages 
containing baggage. This was the last of " milord 
Henry," decided the neighbours, dismissing the matter 
with a shrug, and resuming their interrupted occupa- 
tions. Toward evening, the whole street was thrown 
into a state of wild conjecture, for the entire caravan 
reappeared, drew up at the gates of the hotel, and a 
moment later disappeared from view. What had hap- 
pened? Sir Henry, having lunched at Saint Germain, 
" where, on finding the repast with which he was served 
detestable, and affrighted at the prospect of having to 
suffer such inconvenience every day, returned to Paris, 
never to leave again ! " 

" At his table, which was celebrated, Sir Henry in- 
vited companions of more than one kind. Bijou and 
Biche, the two favourite dogs, were often there seated 
on chairs, with imposing napkins around their necks, 
and to them each plate was solemnly offered. One 
day, however, their behaviour not conforming to the 
ideas of their master, they were punished in the most 
terrible manner! A tailor was immediately sum- 
moned. 

" ' These blackguards have deceived me,' said their 

38 



^m ^et familp 

eccentric master. ' I have treated them like gentlemen, 
they have behaved like rascals. Take their measure! 
they shall wear for eight days the yellow coats and 
knee breeches of my valets, and stay in the anteroom, 
and be deprived of the honour of seeing me for a 
week.' " 

Extraordinary man! With his dogs, his rare col- 
lection of royal letters and state papers ; his yearly hunt 
in his great gardens ; all passed into the bygones. The 
march of restless improvement, in 1840, cut the rue 
d' Alger through one end of the gardens, the rue 29th 
Juillet destroyed more, and to-day, the Hotel Saint 
James is all that remains intact of the stately dwelling, 
which in three centuries had been the rendezvous of 
Paris! Part of the grand staircase exists; the old satle 
des gardes is the vestibule where the traveller enters 
heedless of the glories of former days. Only from the 
immense court may one form an idea of what the 
" vast " Hotel de Noailles really meant, and this is but 
a fragment of what it was in the days of its glory. 
The gardens, which were on the rue de Rivoli, are cov- 
ered with shops and hotels, and little of the original 
buildings are there, though, however, portions were 
employed in the additions and rebuilding which took 
place in 1840. It seems a pity that so fine a specimen 
of the architecture of the seventeenth century could 
not have been preserved as an object lesson; there are 
so many of the old hotels still intact and ever interest- 
ing as a relic of the days before the land was in the 
grasp of Libertej Egalite et Fraternite, and more than 
most, would the Hotel de Noailles have been explored 
by the antiquarian, the student of social customs, with 
keenest enjoyment, since it was the home of so illus- 
trious a race. 

But in the good old days, before the slightest hint 
of trouble had been breathed, when every one but the 
people of France lived a life of gay pleasure, the Hotel 

39 



i^atiame tie Hafapette 

de Noailles was in all Its glory, soon to be the scene of 
many weddings, for the daughters of the Due d'Ayen 
were fast reaching the age when they could be brides, 
and suitors were not wanting. The favoured one for 
the hand of his cousin Louise, was the young Vicomte 
de Noailles, the second son of the Marechal de Mouchy 
and younger brother of the Prince de Poix. A gallant 
young soldier, his suit was smiled upon by the Due and 
Duchesse d'Ayen, though the latter considered her 
daughter too young to wed. Time, however, would 
remedy that, and with great pleasure to all the relatives 
the arrangements for the marriage were finally con- 
cluded. The bride-elect was not informed of the al- 
liance in store for her, it being agreed by all that silence 
should be maintained for a year. Her mother, having 
a knowledge of the flighty propensities of youthful 
minds, wisely decided that their education would suffer. 
Adrienne, being still younger, a year and a half must 
pass before she would be told of the proposals of M. de 
Lafayette. 

Naturally, the impatient young lovers suggested, 
importuned, urged, that a few meetings under the chap- 
eronage of Mile. Marin might be arranged as they 
took their morning walks, but prudent Mme. d'Ayen 
pleaded the necessity of preparing them suitably for 
the high positions which they were to occupy, the very 
short time which was to elapse before the marriages, 
and that such meetings would naturally tend to excite 
and distract them from their usual routine. It is more 
than probable, though unrecorded, that the enterpris- 
ing young lovers found some means of occasionally 
seeing their fiancees, which, as they had always been in 
the habit of visiting at the Hotel de Noailles, was not 
a matter of unsurmountable difficulty; but it was not 
until the end of the summer of 1772 that Mme. d'Ayen 
spoke to the unconscious Louise of the Vicomte de 
Noailles. 

The heart of the young girl fluttered wildly, as^ 
40 



^nt« 1$tt f amilp 

with downcast eyes and rising blushes, she, half timidly, 
wholly bashfully, confessed to her mother, ** that she 
had always regarded her cousin, as, perhaps, a little 
more than a friend." 

He was a lovable and attractive suitor, one who 
might cause a flutter in the heart of any damsel; and, 
young though he was, showed none of those dissolute 
characteristics common to the youth of his day. The 
Noailles families had always been closely united, so the 
heart of the mother would not suffer the shock and 
separation which would have been hers had her daugh- 
ter married a stranger. As the wedding-day drew near, 
the lovers were permitted many a sweet half hour of 
low-toned conversation, so softly spoken that the drowsy 
noddings of the sleepy duenna, at the other end of the 
long salon, were in no way disturbed, or her incipient 
slumbers curtailed . . . and sometimes, at Versailles, 
where her future mother-in-law, the " Mme. I'Eti- 
quette " of Marie Antoinette's day, held sway, Louise 
had a few minutes with her lover, as the busy Marechale 
de Mouchy was called away to decide a knotty point 
of etiquette. This famous and much-discussed old lady 
was deeply attached to her niece, the chosen wife of her 
second son, and both before and after the wedding lost 
no occasion to show by every kind means in her power 
her sentiments toward the future Mme. la Vicomtesse 
de Noailles. Several times when visiting her aunt 
Louise had been taken to the petits appartements of 
the Dauphiness, that princess receiving her with the 
sweet graciousness and lack of hauteur which was the 
cause of so many unfavourable comments from the 
French nation which could not comprehend that a prin- 
cess could be so informal and, at the same time, preserve 
unsullied her character. . . . Poor Marie Antoinette, 
with her love of simplicity, her mimic farm, and her 
tragic fate ! How little those two girls, one soon to be 
a bride, the other, even at this time beginning to feel 
the discomforts of her lonely position, so different from 

41 



^i^aiiame tie Hafapette 

the simple life at the court of Vienna, dreamed of what 
was so soon to befall them ! Poor " Mme. I'Etiquette," 
whose face reflected the pleasure she felt in the gra- 
cious reception accorded her niece — the same fearful 
ending was to be hers ! 

The short time before the wedding-day for the first 
of her beloved children was a period of serious thought 
and deep prayer for Mme. d'Ayen, who tried to leave 
nothing undone that would make her child what she 
herself prized before all worldly honours and position — 
sincerely and devoutly a good Christian. She had al- 
ways superintended and arranged all the details of their 
somewhat erratic education, because her husband played 
absolutely no part in the happenings of everyday life, 
and the children did not suffer from being left to the 
sole guidance of their mother, for nowhere can there 
be found a woman better deserving of every eulogy that 
can be written. She was the epitome of domestic per- 
fection. A better mother than wife, in the sense that 
her children came far before her husband in her idea 
of duty. Despite the well-known indecision of her 
mind, she possessed strongly marked individuality and 
personality, and all her daughters seem to have taken 
after her in disposition and traits to a greater degree 
than they resembled their father. All the love and 
devotion which she lavished on them was amply repaid 
by them in later years, when, in sorrow and sunshine, 
they never left her side until death separated them, 
letting life hang in the balance rather than part from 
her. 

" Her mind and heart were alike upright, and the 
idea of regulating our lives on the principles of virtue 
and duty, apart from all interested motives, became so 
habitual to us, owing not only to our mother's lessons 
and to her example, but also to that of our father on 
the too rare occasions on which we had the opportunity 
of seeing him, that the first instances which we met 
with of a contrary conduct in many of those who were 

42 



commonly called honest people caused us a painful im- 
pression of surprise which required many years of con- 
tact with the world to diminish in our minds. . . . Her 
confidence in us was well calculated to elevate our soul 
by showing us hers in all its purity," wrote her daugh- 
ter Adrienne. 



43 



CHAPTER IV 

THE nuptial preparations of these girls — one is 
almost tempted to call them children — were 
not to be disposed of lightly. They were the 
culmination of years of careful planning and 
innumerable ceremonious consultations; they were 
hedged with the thousand niceties of the etiquette of 
the day, which had then lost little of the tremendous 
pomp decreed by the Roi Soleil as due the dignity of 
those great enough to be of his entourage. The family 
of the Noailles was one of the most powerful as well 
as richest in France, linked by marriage with others 
equally celebrated; there was no height to which the 
splendour of their entertainments could not aspire. The 
men who were to be allied with the daughters of this 
proud race were the foremost nobles of the court. The 
Vicomte de Noailles was of the " race," and the young 
Lafayette, though bereaved of father and mother, 
lacked not in worldly goods or influence. The Due 
d'Ayen was the friend and confidant of the king, as his 
ancestors had been, and what they would the Noailles 
could command. There were interviews with solemn 
men in black gowns and spectacles, representing the law, 
who came and went with huge parchments on which 
were recorded the lands, houses, and other personal 
wealth of the contracting parties. The estates of M. 
de Lafayette afforded him an income of 120,000 livres 
a year; the dowry of Mile, de Noailles was 200,000 
livres, allowing her an income of 9,000 livres. De- 
spite this, in later days Lafayette by his foolish expen- 
diture greatly impoverished his splendid inheritance, 

44 



Sl^atiame tie flafapette anti ^tt f amilp 

and is shown to have borrowed large sums from time 
to time. Through the Revolution he, with all the other 
nobles in France, was utterly ruined, though he event- 
ually recovered a portion of his belongings. To the 
careful administration of his guardians during his long 
minority he owed the large fortune in ready money 
of which he became possessed upon his majority. 

Edifying as are these facts, they were as nothing 
in the feminine mind compared to the details of the 
trousseaux — almost stupendous in their proportions and 
not lightly to be dismissed. The quantities of lingerie 
took time to prepare, although, as has been done by 
every prudent French mother before and since, the house- 
hold linens and sundry things needed in the tremendous 
establishments of that time had been in preparation for 
years against the day when the daughters should wed. 
There were heirlooms, laces to be bleached, jewels to 
be reset for the brides whose youthful charms they 
were to enhance. Without number were the quantities 
of those filmy, gossamer muslins, wrought by repentant 
fingers in the cloister, needed for the negligees of ma- 
dame — those bewitching garments which a vagrant 
print brings sometimes before our envious eyes. What 
dresses of ceremony, with their impossible hoops and 
Gargantuan trains — erections of intricate and solemn 
consultation, of Heaven knows how much work ! Their 
festoons of fairylike silver roses, panels of jewelled ara- 
besques; bouffant cascades of lace, lighter and more 
frail than the web of the patient spider, the masses 
of shimmering satins and velvets. . . . Lyons could 
fashion no weave of its famed looms too rich for the 
tastes of those choosing what was to add to the charm 
of the childish brides. 

Those awesome court trains brought joy to the 
hearts of the sisters, so young, so soon to wear the 
magic little circles of gold. They insisted on " dress- 
ing up " as girls have done and will do till we revert 
to the primitive simplicity of our first parents. Tying 

45 



ET^atiame tie %Afaptttt 

those gorgeous creations over their simple white frocks, 
they rapturously swept the rustling yards of brocade 
over the age-stained floors whose marvellous polish 
threw back reflections of exaggerated absurdity and 
mirth-provoking grotesqueness. How the old mirrors 
woke from their habitual calm serenity, startled by the 
visions of magnificent plumes and aigrettes mischie- 
vously perched at rakish and impossible angles on the 
hastily improvised coiffures! The jewel cases, opened 
with delighted cries of joy, their contents magnified a 
thousandfold by the floods of sunshine pouring through 
the small-paned windows. At the time of her sister's 
wedding Adrienne knew nothing of her approaching 
betrothal, and if there was a longing in her girlish heart 
for the jewels of the future Vicomtesee de Noailles, her 
casket was to be even more richly filled, for the Mar- 
quis de Lafayette was an only child, and everything 
belonging to his dead mother came to his bride; while 
the mother of the Vicomte de Noailles was a lady who 
clung tenaciously to her own and was survived only a 
short time by the gentle Louise, and in days when little 
thought was given to the contents of jewel cases, or 
to any of the poor trivial vanities dear to the feminine 
heart. . . . 

Alack! that no careful scribe has left minute de- 
tails of those two weddings; but there exists, precise and 
accurate, the account of their younger sister's marriage 
in 1783 — which pictures vividly the ceremony, the cus- 
tom of the day, so interesting because no trace of its 
stately charm remains. At that date the " Deluge " 
had almost arrived; the breath of the dreadful events 
so shortly to occur had begun to be felt; it was almost 
the end of the France of chivalry — of the ancien re- 
gime. This sister married the Marquis de Montagu, 
son of a rich and powerful family, all of whom turned 
out en grand tenue to fittingly adorn the occasion. 

" The corbeille was magnificent, the diamonds alone 
being valued at more than forty thousand livres," says 

46 



the writer, and this, be it remembered, was in the year 
1783, when those attractive stones had not reached their 
present prohibitive value. " To the presents of the hus- 
band each member of the family had added his mite. 
There was, for example, a diamond cross a la Jeanette, 
the offering of Mme. la Comtesse de Tesse and the 
Duchesse de Lesparre, sisters of the Due d'Ayen; a 
ring of large diamonds presented by the Marquis de la 
Salle; a rich dressing case, given by M. d'Augusseau; 
a table, in silver gilt, from the Marechal and Marechale 
de Noailles, the grandparents of the bride; three dia- 
mond ornaments, in the form of ears of wheat, from 
the three older sisters of the bride; diamond earrings 
from the Marquis and Marquise de Bouzola. There 
was also, at the bottom of the corbeille^ a purse of two 
hundred louis, which Mile, de Noailles at once di- 
vided among those who had served her. 

" From the time the contract was signed to the day 
before the marriage, it was necessary each day to make 
the most ceremonious of toilets — a new one for each 
occasion — in which to receive the visits of ceremony 
usual at this time. All Paris passed in a rainbow pro- 
cession. The drudgery commenced at six o'clock in the 
evening, and was finished, or rather continued, by a 
grand supper. The fiancee, tiree a quatre epingles, 
laced, busked, stiffened within an inch of her life, erect 
as a ramrod, and, above all, terribly bored, was seated 
by the side of her mother, and by her presented to each 
arrival, who never failed to make at least two or three 
of the most ceremonious reverences, which etiquette 
demanded should be as ceremoniously returned by the 
bride-elect. All the Montagus were there in battle 
array; so was every living Noailles, without counting 
the relations and connections of both families." 

The marriage was celebrated on May 12, 1783, in 
the choir of the church of Saint Roch. The church was 
filled to suffocation. " The bride, pale despite her bru- 
nette colouring, timid, and of a ravishing modesty," was 

47 



^K^atiame ht Hafapette 

led by her father up to her prie-dieu. She wore a dress 
of " silver tissue, with plumes which held up the trim- 
ming and looped the material into those enormous 
panniers then worn." She was obliged to pass between 
two rows of relations in the midst of an immense 
crowd, every eye riveted upon her. . . . The cere- 
mony being over, the Vicomte de Beaune, her father- 
in-law, took her by the hand to lead her to her car- 
riage. . . . No sooner had she regained the Hotel de 
Noailles and been relieved of her veil, than she ran 
to her sister's room, " where she stayed until sum- 
moned to take part in the gala proceedings." After 
dinner, which was a family affair, she was "re-dressed 
in another gown and once more rejoined the company." 
The day terminated by a supper of sixty covers, during 
which " the young spouses were seated side by side." 
. . . The honeymoon as we know it seems not to have 
been a part of the French marriage of that day, for 
we are told they " retired later " to that regal apart- 
ment of Mme. d'Ayen's, with its crimson and gold 
state, which " was their chambre nuptial.'''' 

But enough of the young Montagus. The presents 
of the gentle Louise were magnificent, the Bien Aime 
remembering the bride generously, as he usually did 
remember anything young, good-looking, and feminine. 
The cumbersome coaches lumbered into the cour d'hon- 
neur of the Hotel de Noailles, then in gala attire, laden 
with those whose names are now written on the pages 
of their country's history and famous for their valour, 
diplomacy, or the nobility of their deaths. The tapers 
threw a shadowy halo around the altar, where golden- 
robed priests awaited the arrival of the bridal cortege. 
Their solemn words, the roll of the organ, the mist of 
incense, all thrilled the pious heart of Mme. d'Ayen, 
who prayed ceaselessly for the child leaving her care. 
She had tried faithfully and earnestly to make her chil- 
dren good Christians; had she succeeded? Such was 
her oppressing thought as she stood by the side of the 

48 



Sinn f$n f amilp 

.cousins plighting their troth, the tears forcing them- 
selves from her downcast eyes. Her other children, 
impressed, probably frightened, by the unusual happen- 
ings, cried incessantly throughout the ceremony. " It 
was indeed with feelings impossible to describe that 
Mme. d'Ayen led her oldest daughter to the altar." 

What did Louise de Noailles wear when presented 
to her king? Was the du Barri there when the bride 
received the felicitations of Louis? Not if " Mme. 
I'Etiquette " had a word in the arrangement, for the 
plumes of the virtuous comtesse bristled at the mention 
of the favourite. Such was the tattle of the court ! 

Scarcely was this wedding tin fait accompli before 
Adrienne was told of the proposals of M. de Lafa- 
yette, " towards whom," she writes, " I was already 
attracted by feelings forerunners of that deep and ten- 
der affection which every day has united us more and 
more in the midst of all the vicissitudes of this life; 
In the midst of the blessings and misfortunes which 
have filled it for the last twenty-four years." She 
naively confesses " with what pleasure I learnt that 
for more than a year my mother had looked upon and 
loved him as a son," and little Adrienne goes on to 
tell us, " my mother tried to calm my poor weak brain, 
which was over excited by the importance of the com- 
ing event." Perhaps the little heart played some part 
even more than the " poor weak brain " — quien sabel 

The nature and disposition of the future Mme. de 
Lafayette was one of the utmost sweetness and nobil- 
ity. While possessing sufficient wit and spirit she was 
not in the slightest degree as a child, or in later life, 
frivolous. Poor soul, she had little cause to be ! After 
her marriage she went " frequently to the play and to 
balls; she enjoyed all these pleasures with the live- 
liness of her age and disposition. Nevertheless, I do 
not think she ever allowed herself to join in any before 
It had been proved to her that she was conscientiously 
obliged to partake In them. Never, even in her earliest 

49 



^a^atiame ht %afaptttt 

youth, did she allow herself to taste a single worldly 
amusement without being actuated by motives of duty 
superior to those which forbid them." (The above 
sentiments are not unlike the well-known opinions of 
St. Francis Xavier on the subject of dancing.) 

"It is worthy of remark that the religious doubts 
which tortured her should not have made her timorous 
on this point. She did not join in them without re- 
flection, but once decided, she would enjoy herself thor- 
oughly and without scruple. On the contrary, she was 
incessantly applying for the grace of God in order to 
learn the fullness of truth. He granted her prayers, 
her mind ceased to be troubled. She made her first 
communion that same year, on the first Sunday after 
Easter, and gave herself up to God, in whom she con- 
tinued to trust so faithfully amidst the vicissitudes of 
life." 

Though she had known M. de Lafayette before, 
it was with an added interest, a natural shyness, that 
they met after the betrothal had been announced to the 
young girl. The world was fair and smiling on that 
beautiful morning; the tender almonds were budding 
into softest green; the marronniers threw their white 
perfumed blossoms, suggestive of the snowy bridal 
wreath, in soft masses over the verdant turf, some 
clinging lovingly to the tresses which so soon would 
be hidden by the wedding veil. The daffodils and tulips 
were breaking into rare blooms ; the world waking from 
her winter sleep. All seemed to smile a welcome to the 
young lovers, who, for a few rare and precious mo- 
ments alone, walked daintily through tulip-bordered 
paths, between the fantastically clipped hedges, where 
grotesque yews spoke of the fanciful tyranny of the 
autocrat, Lenotre, of whom even the Grand Monarque 
had stood in awe, so imperious and dogmatic were his 
mandates. 

Though many a beauty and beau had tripped o'er 
the lawns of the Hotel de Noailles, there was none to 

50 



3lnti ^er f aiwt^ip 

whom the world looked more fair, none with a brighter 
future than these two. The hedges had listened to 
plots, to intrigues, the vows of lovers, and once again 
on that April morning were words of infinite tender- 
ness spoken by wooing lips; and what a divine blush, 
as the gallant marquis pressed his first kiss — unchape- 
roned, which makes a very great difference — on the 
taper fingers of Mile, de Noailles, and bravely drew 
his sword to free the path of a rebellious bramble, that 
it might not annoy his " dearest Adrienne." 

These interviews were sweet from their very rare- 
ness, for the little bride elect was kept well occupied by 
her mother, though the faithful Mile. Marin could 
have betrayed the fact that conjugations of the verb 
aimer in the several languages studied by her pupil 
seemed an easier task than some of the more prosaic, 
if less intricate, branches prescribed by Mme. la Du- 
chesse. Few realised the depth of feeling possessed 
by the child of fourteen. It was written of her some 
years later: " I do not think it possible to give an idea 
of my mother's way of loving. It was peculiar to her- 
self. Her affection for my father predominated over 
every other feeling without diminishing any. It might 
be said she felt for him the most passionate attach- 
ment, if that expression was in harmony with the ex- 
quisite delicacy which kept her from any of the evil im- 
pulses generally attendant upon that feeling. Neither 
had she ever a moment of exigence. Not only was it im- 
possible for my father to perceive a wish that could be 
unwelcome to him, but even in the depths of her heart 
never did there lurk a little feeling. She was fourteen 
and a half when she married; at that time her mind 
was agitated by religious doubts. Notwithstanding the 
very tender feelings which drew her towards my father, 
she was much troubled by the thought of the solemn 
engagement she was taking at so early an age. All 
she felt appeared to her beyond her strength, and she 
placed herself under the protection of God, to whom in 

SI 



i^aHame ht Eafapette 

the midst of her difficulties she never ceased to look for 
support." 

" Happy's the wooing that's not long adoing," 
sayeth the old proverb, and on Monday, the eleventh 
day of April, in the year 1774, the gallant young Mar- 
quis de Lafayette, and his " dearest Adrienne " took 
each other, " for better for worse," " in sickness and in 
health," till " death did them part," the knot being tied 
by the vicaire general de I'archeveche de Paris, I'abbe 
Paul de Murat, cousin of the bridegroom. The wed- 
ding differed little from that of her sister: the same 
guests nodded and gossiped as they awaited the bride ; 
the solemn benediction again thrilled the heart of the 
mother, as her second daughter was given to the pro- 
tecting care of a husband. The warm sun shone gladly 
on the youthful couple as they stepped from the gloomy 
gray shelter of the incense-filled chapel into the spring 
world, so full of joy and promise to them. 

It had been the stipulation of Mme. d'Ayen, upon 
giving her consent to the marriage, that the very 
youthful Lafayettes should live with her for the next 
two years, Lafayette paying a pension alimentaire of 
eight thousand livres a year. There were many mur- 
murs on the part of the nineteen-year-old husband, 
though the fifteen-year-old bride did not raise her voice 
against the maternal authority; but the promise had 
been given and seemed wise, as shortly after the wed- 
ding the husband had to return to his regiment at Metz, 
whereupon the bride dissolved into tears, and for some 
days refused to be comforted, sobbing her grief away 
on the sympathising shoulders of mother and sisters. 
Just why she could not have gone with him is unex- 
plained, but, at any rate, she felt keenly the first of the 
many separations which fate had ordained should be 
theirs and " which made her feel how deeply she was 
attached to him." 

Louise, though much In the society of her husband's 

52 



parents, at Versailles, found frequent opportunities to 
join her mother and sisters, always returning reluc- 
tantly when the visit was over. She brought with her 
many bits of gossip anent the doings of the new queen, 
Marie Antoinette, with whom she had always been a 
favourite, though, owing to the disposition of Louis 
XVI, which was the antipodes of tJhat of his grand- 
father, the atmosphere surrounding the throne some- 
what lacked a certain spiciness which had been rather 
prevalent prior to the death of that past master of im- 
propriety. The du Barri was living a quiet and retired 
life, the court, still in mourning, all seemed to be wait- 
ing — ^waiting for that fearful cataclysm which was so 
soon to sweep it out of existence. 

In the September following Adrienne's wedding, an 
amusing and unromantic event occurred. It being the 
fashion then set by the princes and others of the royal 
family, whose members had so often suffered from the 
smallpox, to be inoculated, M. de Lafayette, on re- 
turning from his regiment, insisted on submitting to 
the somewhat crude ordeal. Mme. d'Ayen took a 
house at Chaillot for the purpose, where she shut her- 
self up with the Marquis and his wife until the tiresome 
period was over. Presumably Adrienne was not inocu- 
lated, as there is no mention of anything of the kind, 
but the experiment seems rather risky. Mme. d'Ayen 
and Adrienne did everything to keep him amused, and, 
having been a victim to the disfiguring disease, the for- 
mer took the most scrupulous care of his health and 
well-being, fearing that he should be marked as she 
had been. This was an unusual act of affection on the 
part of a mother-in-law, few going to such lengths in 
their devotion. 

The winter following the wedding was very gay. 
They went to balls; to the play; the court of Marie 
Antoinette was the center of attractiveness. Folly and 
frivolity led the fashion; the hours were too brief for 
pleasure. Mme. d'Ayen, forced from her retirement 

53 



£l^atiame be Eafapette 

at the request of her husband, whom she did not wish 
to offend, took her daughters to the queen's ball every 
week, appearing at court frequently on other occasions. 
After these functions, she gave very elegant suppers, to 
which she invited the friends of her sons-in-law and 
such people as were pointed out by her husband as 
being able to advance the interests of these young men. 
This gayety lasted during the " Quartier " of the due, 
during which he was obliged to reside at Versailles to 
be near the person of his king. Mme. d'Ayen disliked 
and despised this life, and it was with a deep-drawn 
sigh of relief that she returned to her usual avocations, 
thanking her protecting spirit that her place was not 
at court! It seems almost unnatural that the women 
of this branch of the Noailles family showed so little 
inclination for the atmosphere surrounding royalty and 
its consequent pomp, when the family had, for genera- 
tions, by their right of wealth and birth played such 
a prominent part in the entourage of the sovereign. 
They were content to leave their representation to the 
Marechale de Mouchy , " Mme. FEtiquette," whose 
well-known features formed, one might say, a land- 
mark there for almost too many years to count. She 
loved the life, Mme. d'Ayen hated it; both were con- 
tent to follow the inclination most pleasing — a very sat- 
isfactory way of arranging the matter. 

The young Lafayettes formed part of that frivolous 
little coterie to which the whim of Marie Antoinette 
was law; whose aim and occupation was to invent and 
dance ballets, new charades, and rack their brains for 
something to while and speed the passing hour lest it 
should hang too heavily upon those for whom life was 
preparing such tragic hours of sorrow. Among these 
butterflies, the " great boy with red hair," as Lafayette 
was known, was singularly awkward and ill at ease. 
He danced so badly that he hated to appear on the floor 
of the ballroom, which he was often obliged to do 
at the command of his mischievous queen, who twitted 

54 



%m J^er familp 

him unmercifully upon that gaucherie which he was 
never able to overcome. Deficient, too, was he in an- 
other fashionable habit of the gentlemen of his day — 
he was unable to drink much, and, greatly to his dis- 
gust, ever obliged to limit himself to small libations, 
or to retire Ignominiously from the field of battle ere 
the fray had commenced in good earnest. Proud was 
he, on one occasion, when he had been able to keep pace 
with those jolly companions of Uepee du Bois, in their 
battle against the good vin de champagne^ with no 
other ill effect than a weakness of the legs, which neces- 
sitated assistance when he sought his carriage. Loudly 
he begged them, N'oubliez pas de dire a Noailles 
comme j'ai bien bu! — de Noailles being the happy 
possessor of " the head of an EngHshman," much to the 
envy of Lafayette. Such were the diverse ambitions of 
the young patriot! 



SS 



CHAPTER V 

OF the many princely families, almost royal in 
their state and influence, which have made 
the history of France what it is, two stand 
foremost in their day — the Noailles and Ro- 
hans. Ever actuated by a fierce and undying rivalry, 
countless romances might be written on the themes fur- 
nished by their intrigues and hatreds. So interwoven 
are the chronicles of the former family with those of 
contemporary France, that it is difficult, nay, impos- 
sible, to search its pages without finding incidents of 
the deepest interest to the student. Related through 
marriage and consanguinity in the closest degree to the 
old nobility of the France of ante " Deluge " days, 
their wealth and influence enabled them to command 
unlimited favour, though some of the doings might not 
be quite in accord with the modern ideas of right and 
justice. 

Abnormally ambitious, through many vicissitudes, 
intrigues, conspicuous royal favour, the family rose 
quietly, steadily, to an opulence and power almost too 
great for mere subjects. Rank and honours of the high- 
est degree were theirs. Deriving, or assuming their 
name from the Chateau of Noailles, in the territory 
of Ayen, between Brives and Turenne, in Limousin, it 
was in the eleventh century that they first became promi- 
nent, though at this time their renown did not reach 
beyond their native province. The Sieurs de Noailles 
went, as did others of their time, with that mad mass, 
called the Crusaders, to the Holy Land. It was an easy 
and novel expiation of sin to journey with congenial 

S6 



flt^atiamc tie Hafapette anti i^er familp 

companions to a land where restraint was unknown, 
plunder plenty, and no one to dictate. Whether the 
Holy Sepulchre would, from any other but a senti- 
mental point of view, have been much benefited had it 
changed hands, is a matter of conjecture; but the ex- 
cuse served the seigneurs of the time as a diversion and 
varied the monotony of surreptitiously stealing one an- 
other's sheep and harrying the peasantry. 

As a family, it was a characteristic, almost an un- 
written law, that the Noailles must be first. Prece- 
dence and power were the very breath of life to the 
proud race. An old chronicle of the times tells us: 
"Francois de Noailles (1504-62), one of the ablest 
statesmen France ever produced, obtained precedence 
over Vargas, the Spanish ambassador" (ambassador 
to the Porte), "and negotiates a peace between the 
Turks and Venetians, and preserves a large part of 
the island of Candia, to which the Turks have laid 
siege." There seems to have been an inherent rivalry 
toward the representatives of Spain, for the attention 
of the courts of Europe was attracted by the mag- 
nificent splendour and display of Antoine de Noailles, 
admiral of France, ambassador to Whitehall in the 
sixteenth century, who made a gallant but vain attempt 
to " dim the brilliance of the Spanish representative, 
one Simon Reynard, and thereby impoverished him- 
self," though gaining a great vogue among the fair 
sex, and much commendation from the beauties sur- 
rounding the " Virgin Queen," not to mention some 
marks of approbation from the royal termagent her- 
self ! 

" In 1534 the United Provinces, thinking Maurice 
too young (for a ruler), offered to put themselves un- 
der the dominion of Henri III, but so advantageous 
a proposal backed by the sage advice of M. de Noailles, 
was refused by that wise prince." Showing in this in- 
stance that de Noailles held a post of trust and weight 
in the confidence of his sovereign. Some years later, 

57 



^aliame tie %Afaptttt 

in 1663, the " County of d'Ayen was raised to a duchy 
and peerage." They were warlike, too, and no dare- 
devil expedition of the day failed to count a de Noailles 
in its ranks. 

The son of the Admiral de Noailles just mentioned 
had been created a count by his namesake and patron, 
Henri IV. He achieved much renown for his resource 
and daring in the religious wars which stirred France 
at that time. 

Rather amusing is the glimpse of a teapot tempest 
caused by one of the thousand petty intrigues of the 
court of young Louis XIV. " A counterfeit letter in 
the Spanish language had been delivered to the queen 
in 1662, wherein endeavours were used to make that 
young princess jealous of the king, with a view of preju- 
dicing a person for whom the king had a personal re- 
gard. The authors of this intrigue were detected; the 
king pardoned the Duchesse d'Orleans; the Comte de 
Guiche was banished; de Vardes was sent to prison, 
where he continued a long time; the Comtesse de Sois- 
sons (Olympe de Mancini) was ordered away to 
Champagne, where her husband was governor. De 
Vardes was the most guilty of them all, for he not 
only composed the letter which the Comte de Guiche 
translated into Spanish, but he threw the suspicion on 
the Duchesse de Noailles, a lady of honour to the 
queen; and this calumny was the cause that both the 
husband and wife were divested of their employments. 
The due was obliged to sell his post as lieutenant of 
the Light Horse to the Due de Chaulnes for five hun- 
dred thousand livres. The duchesse was also forced to 
resign her employment of lady of honour in favour of 
Mme. de Montausier, for a hundred and fifty thousand 
livres; they were the worthiest people belonging to the 
court," quaintly concludes the writer, so even then it 
would seem as if virtue was sometimes the scapegoat. 

In 1698 the king, always under some feminine in- 
fluence, was the prey of Mme. de Maintenon, who 

58 



ruled him by alternately bullying and appealing to his 
religious shortcomings. This estimable lady had a 
niece, Mile. d'Aubigne, who must be settled in life. 
The king wished to marry Mile. d'Aubigne to the 
Prince de Marcillac, son of the Due de la Rochefou- 
cauld, and had spoken to him on the subject, to which 
the prince had consented out of respect and politeness. 
But this nobleman and Mme. de Maintenon were never 
very friendly, and the king's proposition was coldly 
received by the favourite, so much so that Louis gave it 
no further thought. 

Mme. de Maintenon, who had her own views, then 
suggested the Comte d'Ayen. " The king did not care 
much for the Noailles," but Maintenon desired the 
marriage. She promised her niece 600,000 livres, the 
king gave her 300,000 in ready money, 500,000 to be 
drawn on the Hotel de Ville, 100,000 in precious 
stones; the reversion of the governorship of Rousillon, 
Perpignan, etc., to M. de Noailles (Comte d'Ayen), 
38,000 livres of income, the governorship of Biron to 
M. d'Aubigne, and a place as dame de palais to the 
bride. The marriage was announced on Tuesday, 
March i ith, and solemnised on the last Tuesday of the 
same month in the year 1698. According to those 
jovial customs dear to our ancestors, mirth and frolic 
reigned, the king " giving with his own hand the ' che- 
mise ' to the Comte d'Ayen, while the Duchesse de 
Bourgogne performed the same office for the bride." 
The monarch attended the happy couple to the nuptial 
couch, and, announcing that he would give them each 
an annuity of 8,000 livres, bade them a cordial bon 
soir, and " drawing the heavy curtains on them, re- 
tired." 

Is it at all extraordinary that the people were taxed 
to the point of starvation, that discontent pervaded the 
fair land of France, when the mere whim, the nod of a 
wanton, could drain the royal treasury of sums of such 
great magnitude? 

59 



^l^dtiame tie Eafapette 

It is to the brothers, one archbishop and cardinal, 
the other gaining by his gallantry the coveted baton 
of a marechal de France^ that the house of Noailles 
owes its greatest prominence, its most illustrious emi- 
nence; when it was rivalled only by the haughty Ro- 
hans, they of the arrogant motto : 

Roi ne puis. 
Prince ne daigne, 
Rohan je suis ! 

Louis Antoine de Noailles, brother of the marechal 
(1650-1728) had been consecrated, and almost imme- 
diately after called to the See of Chalons-sur-Marne. 
He was loath to accept this splendid diocese where the 
lord bishop ranked as a count and peer of France, 
preferring to remain a simple priest, and, despite the 
urgent wishes, the desires of his powerful family, it 
was not until a mandate from the Pope commanded 
him to assume the dignities of his office that he reluc- 
tantly consented to desert the humble sphere to which 
he was so wedded. He shone at Chalons, " by the 
austerity he displayed," by the angelic simplicity of his 
manner, the gentle solicitude, modesty, truly pastoral 
love and care for his flock — an utter absence of world- 
liness, so rare in the pampered churchman of those 
days. Again, the influence of his powerful family pro- 
cured for him the archbishopric of Paris, where he suc- 
ceeded Monseigneur Harlay in 1695. Again he 
pleaded to be allowed to remain where his heart dic- 
tated, but the interests of the family demanded that he 
should fill the exalted rank for which he had been 
chosen, and once more he was an unwilling sacrifice. 
Even then he cared little for the wonderful magnifi- 
cence and pomp of his surroundings, which were 
princely, almost vying with that of the sovereign. His 
eyes were raised to heaven, and did not linger on the 
glittering splendours which meant so little to him. He 
pleased the king and Mme. de Maintenon by the rare 

60 



^nti i$tt f amilp 

frankness and simplicity of his demeanour, his lack of 
affectation, and, what was almost unparalleled in a 
powerful prince of the Church, his great modesty amid 
the luxury of his environment. Thanks to the high 
favour he enjoyed, de Noailles was made a cardinal in 
1700. Through this office he became possessed of un- 
limited power, which he does not seem to have used 
evilly, furnishing in his behaviour a striking contrast 
to his predecessor in office, the infamous Harlay. It 
was de Noailles who in 1695 humanely procured the 
release of Mme. Guyon, who had been thrown into the 
Bastille. Her only crime being a foolish notion that 
she was a latter-day St. Therese, which idea not prov- 
ing in accord with those favoured by the clergy, she 
had, after many vicissitudes, been imprisoned. The 
woman was harmless, and died fifteen years later at 
Blois, " much respected by all for her life of charity 
and piety." 

It seems inconsistent with the clemency displayed on 
that and other occasions, that he should have so reso- 
lutely and doggedly opposed the wish of the king to par- 
don the notorious Mme. Tiquet, who was condemned to 
the scaffold on June 3, 1693, ^^^ having several times 
attempted the life of her husband. Though a woman 
of many intrigues and faults, the fact that her husband 
was in no manner of means an ideal companion made 
some incline toward mercy. The knowledge that M. 
Tiquet did not seek to obtain the slightest respite, only 
suggesting that a greater part of her fortune than the 
state had ordered allotted to him should become his, 
might have appealed to the Christian feelings of the 
archbishop and caused him to show some leniency. 
Petitions from the influential friends she possessed were 
laid before the king, who was disposed to exercise his 
prerogative of mercy, but the saintly archbishop was 
obdurate. The unhappy woman was beheaded on the 
scaffold of the Place-de-Greve, suffering horribly from 
the clumsiness of the executioner, who took several 

61 



!^at»dme ht Slafapette 

blows to decapitate her. It is said Mme. Tiquet's ap- 
pearance was that of a saint, as, dressed in the white 
garment of the condemned, she extended her fingers to 
the executioner, who assisted her to mount the steps, 
which she did with all the grace and dignity for which 
she had been noted. To add to the horrors of the 
scene, a violent thunderstorm broke just as they reached 
the Place-de-Greve, and the condemned woman was 
obliged to wait until it had abated, all the time watch- 
ing with fascinated horror the conveyance which had 
been sent for her remains by her relatives draw nearer, 
awaiting its ghastly freight! 

Louis Antoine de Noailles was a man of extraor- 
dinary independence, absolutely refusing to administer 
extreme unction to the notorious Duchesse de Berri, 
whose tampering with her health had reduced her to 
the point of death. The regent — her father — stormed, 
swore, implored in vain, the cardinal was obdurate. 
The controversy lasted for five days, during which time 
the duchesse recovered — the cardinal had carried his 
point. To him Paris was indebted for the rebuilding 
of the beautiful archepiscopal palace, now, alas ! de- 
stroyed in the Revolution of 1831, which then adjoined 
and belonged to the Church of Notre Dame. He, on 
another occasion, refused to give " letters demissory " 
to the notorious Dubois, who had cleverly tricked the 
regent into making him Archbishop of Cambrai. But 
the powerful favourite found the Archbishop of Rouen 
more tractable, and gained his end, his consecration 
being conducted with a magnificence previously un- 
known in France; the Cardinal de Rohan, between 
whom and the Cardinal de Noailles there was the 
fiercest rivalry for power, officiating. 

One thing which speaks well for the integrity and 
excellence of de Noailles is the bitter and inveterate 
hatred in which he was held by the Jesuits, who carried 
their enmity to the length of concocting, and nearly per- 
fecting a plan to abduct him. As usual, a woman in- 

62 




tt i^. a. Parts rue S> Tac^uej- n't^ a t'if lis Mat/iufittf . 



iSi, 



^ar Scit i-an< 



"J 



Suhti 



iim ,ct Ja Sdife con 



Juifer 



' Cet iiltuifc Prelat hriUe aiuK yectx dcs Mcftefi 
Son. kutnilite' cache , aliened de ncs ^AutcL' , 
CifU- 'Vcrtus dont DiciL Jeul ccniwit tout (e Mct'ti 




THE CARDINAL DE NOAILLES 
From a print in the collection of the author 



^nti f$tx f amiip 

tervened, betraying the plot to the cardinal, who was 
enabled to escape the toils of his wily foes, much to 
their disgust and chagrin. He lived to a good old age, 
and died regretted by the many to whom he had shown 
favour. 

His brother, Antoine Jules (1650-1708), was a 
most extraordinary character. " The death of the 
Marechal de Noailles," says one of his contemporaries, 
" furnished the Court with a spectacle capable of pro- 
ducing great reflections." He was a man of prodigious 
size, fond of the pleasures of the table, of which he 
was by no means abstemious. Born at the court, of a 
father and mother high in the favour and confidence of 
the queen mother (Anne of Austria) and Mazarin, he 
naturally grew up with no other knowledge than that 
of the court and its intrigues. His horizon was 
bounded by the palace walls. Mentally slow-witted, and 
not much of a thinker, " few of his rank were as dull- 
spirited and coarse as he proved himself to be. He 
abased himself to the degree of publicly carrying the 
train of the favourite" (Mme. de Maintenon), "a 
duty which the queen herself did not exact of any officer 
in attendance." This strange man, as Commander of 
Languedoc, had a carpet spread, and his guards drawn 
up on either side when he went to mass in his official 
capacity, the Grand Aumonier being obliged to face 
his prie-dieti, and the mass being conducted with even 
greater pomp and ceremony than was exacted by the 
king — and his gracious majesty was not conspicuous for 
omitting the slightest detail that could add to the gen- 
eral impressiveness of his affairs. The other require- 
ments of the marechal were of the same contradictory 
and punctilious nature. 

He was a typical courtier. The king, his idol, be- 
coming devote, he threw himself into a vortex of relig- 
ion — high masses, vespers, morning prayers; he only 
withdrew from the odour of sanctity long enough to 
attend to the duties of his office, then hastened to con- 

63 



i^a^ame tie Hafapette 

template relique and rosary anew. Despite this seem- 
ing piety, he had not utterly forsaken the flesh and the 
devil. Constant attendance at the petits soupeis of cer- 
tain fair but frail Aspasias, showed that he had in many 
ways an appetite far from ascetic, as with his boon 
companion, Raoul de Coudry, he sustained the reputa- 
tion which, in his time, had made him a faithful imi- 
tator of his master pro tern, the regent. During his 
" Quartier," and as officer of the guard, he occupied 
the apartment directly underneath that of the king, 
which made him independent of domestic surveillance. 
Mme. de Noailles being a woman of much character, 
and one who paid no attention to the torrent of gossip 
pouring through the salons of Versailles, the marechal 
was free to amuse himself as he chose; the latest fancy 
being a very pretty girl, the daughter of one of the 
king's musicians. A damsel so charming and attractive 
naturally made the gallant marechal overlook those 
differences in rank which a less brave man might have 
found insurmountable. So solicitous for her comfort 
did he become, that the Cardinal de Noailles, arriving 
at his brother's appartement early one morning, and 
entering unannounced, was deeply grieved and pained 
at what he saw. . . . The marechal hastily declared 
that he was ill and could not talk, at the same time 
threatening to kill the valet who allowed his brother 
to enter. The lady bashfully effaced herself behind a 
large bolster, and the cardinal withdrew, " sorrowing 
at what he beheld." 

The marechal tactfully and shamelessly paid his 
court to the low-born mistresses of monseigneur, this 
prince at the time being enamoured of Mile. Roussin, 
an actress of some merit, and very beautiful. The lady 
falling 111, the marechal sent constantly to ask how she 
was, " and to express his sympathy." 

Despite these contradictory qualities, he was not, as 
the phrase goes, a bad man, though a better courtier 
than husband. He pleased his king, but many of his 

64 



^nU ^tt f amilp 

traits did not please his wife. In a court governed by 
intrigues and mistresses, Mme. de Noailles ruled hus- 
band, children, family, and household affairs with a 
cheerfulness, freedom of spirit, and easiness which 
were admirable. " She was a woman of much char- 
acter, and without sacrificing her self-respect had the 
tact to keep on terms of friendship with all parties at 
court." 

Possessing his health and senses to the last, M. de 
Noailles was inconsolable at having to yield his post 
at court to his son, though his rank was in no way 
altered. At first, after this event, the guard used to 
stand at attention and present arms when the marechal 
passed through the guard-room, but the king thought 
this a bad idea, and stopped it, " which was so insup- 
portable to the spirit of the marechal that from that 
day on he never passed through the room, going by the 
back courts and stairways when he wished to seek the 
appartement of his daughter, Mme. de Guiche." His 
illness was short and sharp. He died in the midst of 
his family, in the presence of the Duchesse de Bour- 
gogne, " to whom all spectacles were amusing," and 
of the daughter of the king, who had come in while 
passing by. His brother the cardinal, had the unhap- 
piness of seeing him die without being able to receive 
the Holy Sacrament, which the waiting priests had 
brought. The Duchesse de Noailles left the court, 
" where she seldom set foot, and never after the death 
of the king." 

The next event in the chronique scandaleuse, vary- 
ing the wars of the time and minor affairs of the fam- 
ily, was a scheme formed by the Due de Noailles, son 
of the last due, to give a mistress to the King of Spain, 
gossips Saint-Simon. In 1 7 1 1 France was at war with 
Spain, and gained many victories, notably the capture 
of Gironne. This town had capitulated only after a 
furious attack and several days' sharp fighting, the final 
victory being gained by the French troops. The com- 

65 



O^ame tie liafapette 

mand of the vanquished city was given to the Marquis 
de Brancas, " to the scandal of all Spain." Soon after 
this de Noailles paid a visit to the Spanish court, first 
at Perpignan, then at Saragossa. It was during this 
visit that he and a friend, the Marquis d'Aguilar, per- 
fected the above project. The lady on whom their 
choice fell was the celebrated Princesse d'Ursins {nee 
de la Tremouille), who took the title of Princesse 
d'Ursins after the death of her second husband, the 
Due de Braccociano. Mme. d'Ursins had long been a 
power at the Spanish court, from the influence she held 
over the queen. The Due de Noailles and his friend, 
knowing her cleverness of intrigue, added to a nature 
which was not overscrupulous, hoped in the accom- 
plishment of their design to gain an intimate knowledge 
of all the proceedings of the Spanish cabinet, thereby 
establishing a power behind the throne. The queen 
was beginning to suffer from a terrible disease which 
carried her to the tomb. Already had the ravages of 
scrofula, visible on her throat and the lower part of her 
face, necessitated a coifeiir which by its form could 
hide the disfigurement. This malady also kept her 
from accompanying the king to the chase, of which he 
was very fond, and on other journeys. Thus circum- 
stances seemed to play into the hands of the conspira- 
tors. All went well for a time, but finally the Due de 
Noailles growing bold, frightened the piety of the 
timid monarch with the dreadful word, " mistress," 
and so came the end of all the plotting. Philip, jeal- 
ous, peevish, never allowing his wife out of his sight, 
insisting that her door should never be closed, inter- 
rupting her confessor if he thought the royal sins occu- 
pied too long a time in the telling, would have none 
of it, and so the due returned to a court where the 
monarch was not too squeamish to call a spade a spade. 
The news of this intrigue having in some mysterious 
manner preceded him to Versailles, his reception was 
not so cordial as that usually accorded the successful 

66 



^nU f$et faxnilp 

general returning from the wars. At least, so says Saint- 
Simon. In the voluminous letters of Mme. de Main- 
tenon, mentioning the home-coming of the due, there is 
not the slightest hint of anything but the most marked 
friendship and good feeling. But the intrigues of the 
day were too involved to be ravelled lightly, and Mme. 
de Maintenon and the Princesse d'Ursins were hand in 
glove, so to speak. 

This due was the most extraordinary of his race. 
Perhaps the greatest intriguer of a family celebrated 
for its intrigues, subtlety, and lust for power, " he 
was the lucky possessor of a gracious, ingratiating man- 
ner and that apparent sympathy which convinced that 
his sole desire was to further the interests of the peti- 
tioner. Gentle, gracious when it was to his advantage, 
and never for one instant losing sight of the end which 
he had in view, he possessed a genial wit which pleased 
without offending. His superb self-possession enabled 
him to converse with apparent unconcern, in the most 
trying circumstances, with as much esprit as he showed 
in the trivial exchange of compliment in the salons of 
Versailles or Marly. Under all this bonhomie there 
lurked a corrupt heart, harbouring an absolute con- 
tempt for virtue of any kind ; and he, instead of blush- 
ing when caught in the act, calmly ignored the entire 
matter, meanwhile moving heaven and earth to com- 
pass his desires in another way. Neither friend nor 
foe were spared in those schemes to which he was eter- 
nally goaded by his insatiable ambition. No sacrifice 
of friendship or honour was too great, too shameful. 
He needed a clear path, and who opposed fell. Blessed 
with an ever ready and friendly word for all, prince 
or peasant alike; all the arts of wit, society, conversa- 
tion, snares of confidence, friendship, hid one of those 
monsters that the poets loved to describe in the Tar- 
tars. An unfathomable depth of falseness, a natural 
perfidy, accustomed to play lightly with such trifles as 
life and honour, it was ambition which led him to com- 

67 



i^atiame tie Jlafapette 

mit acts of the blackest Ingratitude, the most incredible 
selfishness, and, by the very magnitude and immensity 
of his projects, awe the protesting victim into silence. 
So great was his imagination, so vast the multiplicity of 
his schemes, that he could not wait until one was suc- 
cessfully completed before beginning another; conse- 
quently, a head so filled with conflicting ideas was not 
always able to bring everything to the successful con- 
clusion desired. It was this trait which, more than 
anything, hindered his military manoeuvres. In the 
space of half an hour he would issue so many contra- 
dictory orders to his troops that they would be thrown 
into the most frightful confusion, not knowing whether 
to attack the enemy or start on the homeward march! 
He would work night and day on a pet project for 
eight days, perhaps a fortnight, heaven and earth being 
employed for its accomplishment, everything else ut- 
terly neglected; he lived, he breathed, but for it alone. 
Then, another scheme forming in his fertile brain, the 
same course was followed, to the utter abandonment 
of number one. He was a wonderful combination of 
strength and flightiness, mingled with impetuosity that 
carefully plotted pits for the unwary. The workings 
of his brain were impossible to follow, even in spirit. 
It took great patience and subtlety to manipulate the 
maze of threads controlling the tangled web of his 
affairs." One can only read the gossip of the times, 
pausing in wonder at some of those marvellous, mad 
projects, one of which was an attempt to persuade the 
regent to destroy and sell Marly-le-Roi, upon the plea 
that it was too expensive to maintain during the minor- 
ity of the king. In this way the due would have gained 
immense sums from the sale of the building materials. 
Though this was not done, a vast quantity of plate and 
linen disappeared from Marly during the regency, and 
the thieves were never traced! O temporal O mores/ 
It is hard to believe that a gentleman so versatile 
and accomplished as M. le Due was not gifted in an 

68 



epistolary way. Indeed, so slight was his skill that he 
was " incapable of drawing up a readable petition, so 
many were the blunders, faults, and corrections, that 
the finished document was totally illegible, as well as 
incomprehensible from the confusion of ideas it con- 
tained. He passed days and nights closeted with his 
secretaries, and, when having some particular project in 
view, would have the document composed by an obscure 
or unknown clerk, whom he kept under lock and key in 
a remote garret." The disciple of Saint-Nicholas was 
made to rewrite and recompose the document many 
times, until it quite suited the fancy of his noble patron, 
" who, calmly taking the finished production, which he 
unblushingly displayed everywhere as his, departed 
highly satisfied." 

" A man of such open and ingenuous manner 
seemed especially made to throw dust in the eyes of 
all," and " to make the worst appear the better part." 
He was usually able to convince even the most sceptical 
of the integrity of his intention, " being one of those 
whom Nature destined for a great criminal, had not 
his social position prevented. The serpent who tempted 
Eve, and through her overthrew Adam, and so lost the 
human family, was the original faithfully copied by 
the Due de Noailles. The most exact, the most per- 
fect imitation, as much as a man could approach a 
spirit of the first rank of the fallen angels." It is 
strange, possessing as he did the entree and intimacy 
at court and everywhere he wished, that he did not have 
the talent of making friends. Even his duplicity could 
not bind others to his interests. Over his sister, Mme. 
de Guiche, he never obtained the slightest influence, 
much to his chagrin, for she was a favourite of Mme. 
de Maintenon, and could have done much to aid her 
brother, had she willed. His marvellous adaptability 
made him equally at ease in the society of his boon 
companions, with the ministers of state, or in those 
dainty and famous boudoirs where his mastery of the 

69 



£l^atiame lie Slafapctte 

jargon des femmes enabled him to discuss intelli- 
gently the newest mode in hairdressing, chifons, or the 
all-absorbing topic of enfilage, with a facility very 
pleasing to the fair sex. Another vagary of this kalei- 
doscopic character was his love of collecting books, of 
which he formed a great library, taking the greatest 
pleasure in honouring the literary lights of the day. 
His most dominating trait was, undoubtedly, an insat- 
iable thirst for power, "a soldier's love of plunder and 
glory, and a desire to be first in everything." He re- 
mains an incomprehensible enigma, not to be judged by 
the standard of our times. He died in 1723. 

The next due was not so noted as his predecessor, 
having the negative distinction of leading the French 
troops to defeat at the battle of Dettingen in 1723. 
This action, where George II at the head of the Eng- 
lish and Hanoverians achieved a victory — not the first 
gained on French territory — was the last in which a 
king of England personally appeared on the battle- 
field. Never since has the presence of the Lord's An- 
ointed cheered his faithful soldiers to glory. 

This due was succeeded by his son, Jean Paul Fran- 
cois, Due d'Ayen, afterward Due de Noailles, born Oc- 
tober I, 1739, married January 5, 1755, died 1824. He 
was the father of Mme. de Lafayette. On his grand- 
father's death in 1766 he became Due d'Ayen, and Due 
de Noailles on his father's, in 1793. He is chiefly in- 
teresting from his connection and relationship with his 
justly celebrated daughter. Like most of his family, 
he went into the army; unlike them, the pursuit of the 
philosopher's stone was more congenial to his unmar- 
tial mind than the blare of the bugle. He acquired 
much renown in his pursuits, being elected a member 
of the Academy of Sciences in 1777. According to 
Mme. du Barri, he was one of the wits of the court, 
but " malicious, and a fiend." The estimable countess 
may have been slightly biassed in her estimation of his 
talents, as he, in return, detested, and never lost an 

70 




SECOND MARECHAL DE NOAILLES. MARRIED MLLE. AUBIGNE 

1698, DIED 1766 

GREAT-GRANDFATHER OP MME. DE LAFAYETTE 

From the collection of the author 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

opportunity of putting her in a false or embarrassing 
position. She also declares " he was stupid, like all 
his race." He possessed the confidence of his sover- 
eign, as had his father and grandfather before him; 
a confidence of intimacy, which had caused the super- 
stitious husband of Mme. de Maintenon to desire the 
— contemporary — due to accompany them in a noctur- 
nal expedition to a necromancer, and, so veiled in mys- 
tery were the doings of that evening, so eternal the 
secrecy maintained, that the details of the affair were 
never even alluded to by the interested parties. 

This due, when but sixteen, married the gentle and 
pious Anne Louise Henriette d'Agusseau, nearly two 
years his senior, and thenceforth lived the usual life of 
his contemporaries. He spent much time at court, then 
under the sway of the Pompadour and her successors, 
where his " Quartier " and duty as captain of the 
guard compelled him to live for three months of each 
year. This being over, he found the luxurious boudoirs 
of Versailles lounging places greatly to his taste, being 
accustomed from his childhood to the artificial and 
rather exotic atmosphere surrounding royalty, which 
was so different from the quiet domesticity preferred 
by Mme. d'Ayen. He was, perhaps, a selfish man, 
though fond and thoughtful of his wife, whom he 
deeply respected. She detested the court, and this led 
to their seeing less of one another than would have been 
the case had he married a woman of less exalted nature. 
Ever ready to counsel and advise her on matters 
which she referred to his judgment, he was yet happier 
at the court than beneath the domestic eaves. She, 
with her somewhat peculiar characteristics, was not of 
the temperament to render him those little attentions, 
to administer the delicate flatteries necessary to amuse 
and hold the devotion of most men, and particularly 
one who had always been spoiled and eagerly wel- 
comed by ces dames whose rustling brocades have de- 
scended to us less tattered than their reputations. He 

71 



Q^abame tie itafapette 

played little part in the bringing up of his children, 
being rarely mentioned by them. He defended his king 
on the terrible tenth of August, shortly afterward flee- 
ing to Switzerland, where he lived until the Restora- 
tion, returning to France in 1814. Is it unjust to con- 
demn unheard the conduct of one who can no longer 
defend himself, who fled while his family remained? 
Did he try to obtain the release of Adrienne from the 
dungeons of Olmiitz? Did he try to rescue his wife 
and daughter and his mother from the prisons of the 
Revolution? Things in France were so upset then that 
the news of their execution came to him as a thunder- 
bolt, while he was still ignorant of their danger. No 
effort on his part would have availed with the reign- 
ing powers of the day. His very name would have 
made the plea for clemency into an instantaneous 
death warrant for those he loved, so fanatic were the 
Terrorists. Of his immense fortune nothing remained 
to him. He lived, while in Switzerland, a life of the 
greatest simplicity, and formed a friendship with the 
Countess Golowskin, whom he married in 1795. So 
changed was he by his misfortunes that a few months 
after receiving the news of Mme. d'Ayen's death, his 
daughter, Mme. de Montagu, did not recognise him ex- 
cept by the sound of his voice ! He returned to France 
at the time of the Restoration to attend to his business 
affairs, living henceforth between France and Switzer- 
land. He left no son, his title going to his grand- 
nephew, Paul, born in 1808. His father, the Due de 
Noailles, by dying in August, 1794, narrowly escaped 
the fate of his friends and associates who fell before 
the Terror. 

There is another, a younger branch of the Noailles, 
not to be omitted, as it furnished history for the time. 
Philippe (1715-94) was a younger brother of the 
fourth due, and very much more distinguished as a sol- 
dier, receiving the idton of marechal on the same day 
as his brother. He was known henceforth as the Mare- 

72 



^nti l^er f amilp 

chal de Mouchy, serving at court, as on the field, with 
advantage and distinction to himself. A man of great 
tact and adaptability, he drifted with the strongest 
tide, was ever ready to congratulate or condole. When 
the king, Louis XV, wedded the obscure princesse, his 
wife, Mme. la Comtesse de Noailles {nee d'Arpajon) 
was appointed first dame d'honneur, which post she 
filled for many years until the death of Marie Lec- 
zinska. The perquisites of the first dame d'honneur 
were numerous enough to fill an ample volume in their 
enumeration, and it is interesting to note how, on the 
death of his queen, "the whole of her chamber fur- 
nishings were given to the Comtesse de Noailles, with 
the exception of two large rock-crystal lustres, which 
Louis declared should be preserved as appurtenances of 
the Crown," otherwise they would have been items in 
the spoil of Mme. de Noailles. 

In Marie Leczinska the countess found a kindred 
soul, for the Polish princesse was a martinet in the petty 
etiquette of her court. The following anecdote is in 
itself amusing, and shows the feelings of her royal 
mistress for Mme. de Noailles: " The Queen delighted 
in the art of painting," says Mme. de Campan, " and 
imagined she herself could draw and paint; she had a 
drawing-master who passed all his time in her cabinet. 
She undertook to paint four large Chinese pictures, 
with which she wished to ornament her private draw- 
ing-rOom, which was richly furnished with rare porce- 
laine and the finest marbles. This painter was intrusted 
with the landscape and the background of the picture; 
he drew the figures with a pencil; the faces and arms 
were also left by the Queen to his execution; she re- 
served to herself nothing but the draperies and the least 
important accessories. The Queen every morning filled 
up the outline marked out for her with a little red, blue, 
or green colour, which the master prepared on the pal- 
ette and even filled her pencil wrth, constantly repeat- 
ing, * Higher up, Madame, lower down, Madame, a 

73 



iSt^atiame tie 5lafapette 

little to the right, more to the left.' After an hour's 
work, the time for hearing Mass, or some other pious 
or family duty would interrupt her Majesty; and the 
painter, putting the shadows into the draperies she had 
painted, softening off the colours where she had laid 
too much, etc., finished the small figures. When the 
work was completed the drawing-room was decorated 
with her Majesty's work, and the firm persuasion of 
this good Queen that she had painted it herself was 
so entire that she left this cabinet, with all its furniture 
and paintings to the Comtesse de Noailles, her lady 
of honour. She added to the bequest, ' The pictures in 
my cabinet being my own work, I hope the Comtesse 
de Noailles will preserve them for my sake! ' Mme. 
de Noailles, afterward Marechale de Mouchy, had a 
new additional pavilion constructed in her hotel in the 
Faubourg Saint Germain, in order to form a suitable 
receptacle for the Queen's legacy; and the following 
inscription placed over the door in letters of gold: 
' The innocent falsehood of a good Princesse.' " 

Between the time of the queen's death and the 
arrival of the Archduchesse Marie Antoinette at Ver- 
sailles, Mme. de Noailles played but the ordinary part 
of a court lady. Some time after the installation of the 
du Barri at the palace, there was a fierce battle, caused 
by the command of the king that the Marechal de 
Mouchy, then governor of the palace, and Mme. la 
Marechale, should surrender their appartements to the 
favourite. The indignation of the disturbed marechale 
was too great for words. Had not the old lady been 
controlled by her favourite etiquette, there is no know- 
ing what might have been the consequences to her sov- 
ereign! But the storm passed over, and to this cause 
la du Barri ascribes the hatred in which she was always 
held by all branches of the Noailles family. When 
Marie Antoinette came to France as its dauphiness, it 
was Mme. de Noailles who was sent to welcome and 
conduct the young princesse to court. Of that, and the 

74 



9lnli ^tt f amtlp 

personality of Mme. I'Etiquette, let her contemporary, 
Mme. de Campan speak: 

" As the customary etiquette prescribed, there had 
been a sumptuous pavilion erected at Kell, near the 
frontier, in which the Princesse was undressed, so that 
she might retain nothing belonging to a foreign court, 
the discarded finery becoming the property of the first 
lady of honour. The doors were opened, the young 
Princesse came forward, looking for the Comtesse de 
Noailles; then running into her arms, implored her, 
with tears in her eyes, to direct and counsel her. 

" While doing justice to the virtues of the Com- 
tesse de Noailles, those sincerely attached to the Queen 
have always considered it as one of the earliest misfor- 
tunes of the latter not to have found in the person as- 
signed to her for advice an intelligent and enlightened 
woman, administering good counsel with that sweet- 
ness which engages young persons to follow it. The 
Comtesse de Noailles had nothing affable in her ap- 
pearance; her demeanour was stiff and severe. She 
perpetually tormented the Dauphiness with remon- 
strances, without explaining to that fifteen-year-old 
princesse the origin and necessity of many customs, 
wearisome, heaven knows ! which confronted her on her 
arrival at the French court. For instance, the custom 
of having ladies of honour and gentlemen ushers, and 
that of wearing hoops of three ells in circumference, 
were certainly invented to entrench young princesses so 
respectably, that the malicious gaiety of the French, 
their proneness to insinuations, and too often to cal- 
umny, should not by any possibility find opportunity to 
attack them. 

" The Comtesse possessed abundance of good quali- 
ties, charity, piety, and irreproachable morals render- 
ing her worthy of reverence ; but, with all that frivolity 
could add even to the noblest qualifications, the Com- 
tesse was abundantly provided. Etiquette was to her 
a kind of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of 

75 



a^atiame tie %aiaptttt 

the prescribed order of things, it might be said she was 
on the point of being suffocated." She was, very prob- 
ably, a conceited, tiresome, and pedantic old lady, who 
used to quote the late queen and her doings at all times, 
by way of precedent. " One day the Marechale de 
Noailles was teasing her (Marie Antoinette) with 
questions relative to the extent which she would allow 
the ladies the option of taking off or wearing their 
cloaks, and of pinning up the lappets of their caps, or 
letting them hang down. The Queen replied to her, in 
my presence: ' Arrange all those matters, Madame, just 
as you please, but do not imagine that a Queen of 
France, born Archduchess of Austria, can attach that 
importance to them which might be felt by a Polish 
Princess who had become Queen of France.' " 

Another cause of grievance on the part of Mme. de 
Noailles was the friendship which the queen displayed 
for the Comtesse Jules de Polignac. This young 
woman was " of middle size, very fair complexion, 
dark brown hair, beautiful teeth and smile, sweet dis- 
position, no presumption, disliked dress, and of the most 
simple attire. I do not think I ever saw diamonds 
about her, even at the highest pitch of fortune, 
when she enjoyed the rank of Duchesse at court," says 
Mme. de Campan. " It was necessary that the Com- 
tesse, who was not rich, should be suitably established 
at court; the place of first Equerry, in reversion, after 
the Comte de Tesse being given to Comte Jules, un- 
known to the holder, displeased the family of Noailles," 
with whom they were intermarried. This family had 
just sustained another mortification; the appointment 
of the Princesse de Lamballe having In some degree 
rendered the resignation of the Comtesse de Noailles 
necessary, whose husband was thereupon made a 
marechal de France, with the title of Marechal de 
Mouchy. The queen's great fancy, mingled with pity, 
for the lovely eighteen-year-old widow, who had first 
appeared at one of the queen's sledge parties, had de- 

76 



a^nti J^er ifamilp 

termined her to revive In her favour the office of superin- 
tendent of the household, which had not been in existence 
since the death of Mile, de Clermont. " It is said that 
Marie Leczinska had decided that this place should 
continue vacant, the superintendent having so exten- 
sive a power in the household of the Queens, as to be 
frequently a restraint upon their inclinations." 

M. and Mme. de Mouchy, poor old souls! paid 
dearly for their loyalty, being beheaded on June 27, 
1794, by order of the Revolutionary Committee. Even 
to the last conforming to that etiquette which was their 
fetish, for their young sovereigns had preceded them 
to their ghastly fate ! 

The sons of the Marechal de Mouchy, the Prince 
de Poix and the Vicomte de Noailles, became members 
of the Constitutional Assembly, the former, who was 
a captain in the body guards, sat at the right side of 
the assembly, afterward emigrating in 1793. He 
lived to return in 18 14, when he became a lieutenant 
general. His brother, Louis Victor de Noailles 
( 1 754-1 804), second son of the Marechal de Mou- 
chy, was the most distinguished of his family. He 
went to America in the company of the Comte de Ro- 
chambeau, serving brilliantly under his brother-in-law, 
Lafayette, the husband of his cousin, Adrienne de 
Noailles. It was he who concluded the final details 
of the capitulation of Yorktown, in the war of Ameri- 
can independence. After this, he saw considerable 
service in the West Indies, in 1789 was elected to the 
States General, becoming so imbued with the intoxi- 
cation of liberty as to be one of the first who began 
that " orgie," to quote Mirabeau, abolishing all privi- 
leges of nobility, and, with the Due d'AIguillon, pro- 
posed the abolition of titles and liveries, in June, 1790, 

It Is hard to conceive how a man could be so eager 
to destroy what had been so great a part of his life; 
what had been the life, the very breath, the traditions 
of centuries of ancestors . . . perhaps it was hot- 

77 



a^abame ht 3tafapme 

headed foolishness, perhaps policy, for life was fair, 
and it was easier to drift with the tide than breast the 
raging torrent of the day. He was not an extremist; 
and, when the flood of blood poured over the land in 
the name of La Liberte, he emigrated to America. 
The Terror had robbed him of wife, of home, of rela- 
tions. He went to Philadelphia and became a partner 
in Bingham's Bank, which was very well known at the 
time, living in that city for some years. But the com- 
monplace life was wearying, and, though he prospered 
amazingly, the yearning for France could not be stifled. 
He returned, accepting a commission under his early 
comrade, Rochambeau, to fight against the English at 
San Domingo, where he took part in several brilliant 
engagements. 

" There being no French force to blockade at Cape 
Francois, Commodore Long bore up for the Mole of 
San Nicholas, to treat with M. de Noailles, the French 
General in command there. On the second of Decem- 
ber (1804) a proposition to that effect was made, but 
the General declined, according to the terms, alleging 
that he had provisions for five months, and would not 
surrender until the last extremity. The Bellerophon 
then proceeded with the prizes and prisoners to Ja- 
maica. On the very night on which the blockade of 
the Mole was raised. General Noailles, having pre- 
viously made his arrangements, sallied out of the port 
with his garrison, contained in several small vessels, 
and arrived in safety at the island of Cuba." Among 
the French " Victoires et Conquetes," recorded in a work 
bearing that title, is an extraordinary one, performed 
by M. de Noailles on his short voyage to Cuba. It 
seems that " une corvette Anglaise " — the Hasard — 
" crossed the path of his brig " — the Courrier — " on 
December 31, 1803, near Grande Neuvita, and hailed 
her to know if the General Noailles was on board. The 
French brig concealed her numerous crew, and, hoist- 
ing the English colours, declared that she had been sent 

78 



to intercept the General and his garrison. The two 
vessels then steered in company, and, in the night Gen- 
eral Noailles, at the head of twenty grenadiers, gal- 
lantly leaped on board of, and after a short resistance, 
carried the Corvette Anglaise. The conqueror pro- 
ceeded with his prize to Havana, but unfortunately, 
died shortly afterwards of the wounds received in the 
action." Thus died, on January 9, 1803, one of the 
most daring and most chastened by sorrow of that 
proud race, the friend of liberty and of Lafayette, 
Louis, Vicomte de Noailles, in the forty-eighth year of 
his age. His heart was enclosed in a silver case by his 
grenadiers and carried to France, wrapped in the col- 
ours of his regiment. 



79 



CHAPTER VI 

THE causes which led to that overwhelming 
revolution of bloodshed and terror were not 
the grievances of a month, of a year, or of 
years, but almost of centuries. There were, 
of course, even in the Middle Ages of France, lords 
famed for their honest uprightness, their justice to all, 
be he prince or serf, but these were in the minority. 
The time of the noble was too much occupied in going 
to war, keeping his household goods and chattels out 
of the grasp of his friend and neighbour, and in rest- 
ing between wars, to have much time to take up philan- 
thropy, even had it been fashionable, which it was not. 
The condition of his vassals was as good as in the days 
of his father, perhaps a little better than it had been 
in those of his grandfather. Why meddle with Jacques 
Bonhomme ? 

That Henri IV owes much of his vogue as a popu- 
lar hero to his well-known utterance of the desire that 
each one of his subjects should be able to have a " fowl 
in the pot at least once a week," there is little doubt. 
He touched the chord which unites all mankind, for 
we 

May live without love ; what is passion but pining ? 
But where is the man who can live without dining ? 

So great was his popularity that when all the royal 
tombs were broken open and their dust scattered to the 
mob, his was left intact, though his statue on the Pont 
Neuf went the way of other emblems of royalty. Had 
Henri IV lived longer, it would have meant much for 

80 



a^atiame tie Hafapette anli JJet f amilp 

the prosperity of France. His unfortunate and prema- 
ture death put the country under the regency of his 
second wife, Marie de Medicis, who, silly, vain, and 
irresolute creature, was ruled by her waiting woman, 
Eleanor, in turn the mouthpiece of Concini, her hus- 
band. France, tossed to and fro at the whim of capri- 
cious favourites, owes what steadiness she had to the 
grim guidance ojf old Sully, but, quarrelling with him for 
an honestly outspoken opinion, Marie de Medicis dis- 
missed him, consoling herself with the honeyed flattery 
of favourites. 

France at this moment was in a sad state. The 
power of the nobles had become so exaggerated, and 
their insolence so brazen, that they neither recognised 
nor pretended to obey their sovereign. Like a family 
of peevish and spoiled children, they openly sulked, if 
crossed in any way, absenting themselves from the 
court and not being affable again until pacified by their 
weak queen with enormous bribes in the form of money. 
And these were some of the first men in France ! The 
wars of the Fronde disorganised the country for years. 
The king was nothing; Richelieu, the state. He cur- 
tailed the power of the nobles; levelled their strong- 
holds to the ground. He established courts of justice 
where, for the first time, the poor man, the peasant, 
might be heard, but he did nothing to lighten the out- 
rageous burden of taxation from which the masses suf- 
fered. Richelieu was the embodied spirit of autocracy, 
but he was just. His successor, Mazarin, the son of 
a poor Italian fisherman, afterward secretly married 
to Anne of Austria, was hated by noble and peasant 
alike. He ruled the queen by a rod of iron. When 
Louis XIII died his son was but five years old. The 
country was in a most unsettled state from the wars, 
the credit of the king so low that he could not bor- 
row money at less than twenty-jive per centl The 
reform party, called the Fronde, attempted much, 
achieved little, being finally very badly frightened by 



£)^atidme tie Hafapette 

the news from England of the murder of unhappy 
Charles Stuart by the axe of the Commonwealth. This 
unfortunate monarch was the uncle by marriage of the 
young French king, and, fearing that they might stir 
up more of a tempest than they could control, the 
Frondeurs quieted down, and were not heard of very 
much for a long period. Its leaders accomplished 
nothing, but the Fronde took a hold on the popular 
fancy, and the masses caused many disturbances in the 
various towns and cities of France. The country peo- 
ple and peasants took no part in the doings of the rab- 
ble, but, poor unfortunates ! suffered on every side from 
the pillaging mobs of their countrymen and the attacks 
of numerous bands of mercenaries, lured like the crows 
and buzzards by the hope of carrion. 

To the loyal subjects of the kingdom, Louis XIV 
was proclaimed king, the regency being over. He was 
absolute master. This policy he carried through his 
long reign of threescore and ten years. He was the 
Roi Soleil, a veritable god among men. He brought 
France to a height of ostentatious glory never before 
attained. The pageants of his court eclipsed those of 
other monarchs, as did the graceful dancing of the 
young king put to shame the hobblings of his war-worn 
generals when they awkwardly attempted to pace 
through minuets on those glass-like floors. France was 
at once the cynosure and the envy of all the world. 
The life at the court at that time is well known. It 
was an oasis of glittering ceremony in the midst of 
a starving people. The nobles yawned and chafed at 
their gilded chains, yet dared not go. Their estates 
were left in the hands of dishonest overseers, who grew 
rich, while the revenues of their masters diminished. 
No one lived within his means; play ruined thou- 
sands; they hoped for favours from their sovereign ta 
make them rich once more . . . and hung around — 
waiting. 

" At what time shall I call your lordship? " a ser- 
82 



^nli i^er f amilp 

vant of the Due de Noailles asked his master, who was 
retiring. 

" At ten o'clock, if no one dies meanwhile," replied 
the due. " But should any one happen to die, call me 
earlier, that I may beg his place ! " This anecdote is 
a fair illustration of the prevailing sentiment of the 
day! 

The reign of the fourteenth Louis was the most 
gorgeous ever known, but it was a " kingdom built 
upon a foundation of sand " : a colossal gilded statue, 
with a crumbling wooden heart. The monuments of 
his time are magnificent; was there another Versailles 
with its treasures of art and history, a Fontainebleau, 
a Marly? Who has not marvelled at the mind which 
planned these splendours — creating the stately beauties 
of Versailles from a barren plain ? Its terraces, its very 
stones are peopled with history. Imagination conjures, 
at the twilight of a summer day, when the orange 
flowers scent the air, and the shadows begin to race 
with each other, the presence of sweet-faced La Val- 
liere, conscious always of her slightly halting step, 
walking slowly to and fro as she waited for her mon- 
arch. How the quick blood flies to her face as she 
hears his imperious voice ; how it fades again as she sees 
him approaching, jesting with her triumphant rival, her 
successor, Montespan ! . . . a hypocritical figure glides 
in the shadow, the cat-like and cruel Maintenon, with 
her familiar, that evil genius of France, the Jesuit, con- 
cealing beneath his sombre soutane the ever-ready docu- 
ment awaiting the signature of a doting and supersti- 
tious monarch. Foolish king, to drive some of the 
bravest and best from your kingdom at the whim of a 
bigoted woman! . . , The patter and click of high- 
heeled silk shoes, heavy with jewelled buckles, the half- 
wafted scent, the rustle of brocade ... a scarf con- 
ceals the lowered face; may it not be the du Barri, 
hastening to a rendezvous with other than her kingly 
lover? He was old; she was young, pleasure-loving, 

83 



i^atiame tie Eafapette 

and the habits of her early life had not taught her to be 
faithful to one alone. Women were made to be loved, 
while man lived . . . que voulez voiisl 

What heart does not throb with choking anxiety in 
the little passage by which Marie Antoinette fled, half- 
dressed, to the chamber of the king on that fearful 
morning of October 6th? . . , and the dimness of the 
chapel seems filled with masses of murmuring wraiths, 
gossiping maliciously, as they waited for the ceremony 
which would bind the dauphin to the child of Maria 
Theresa ... all ghosts ... if those age-stained 
walls could only speak! 

Brilliant as was this picture, the reverse of the can- 
vas struck chill and hopeless. For a long period after 
Colbert had by treachery supplanted the lavish Fou- 
quet, he was able, by many reforms and economies, to 
procure plenty of money; but toward the end of his 
administration, having supplied almost incredible sums, 
he was obliged to confess that he knew no longer where 
to turn for more. Louis's reply, " that Kings give by 
spending," was not so heartless as it sounds, but it 
shows that he had little idea of the misery in which his 
subjects existed. La Bruyere described the farm la- 
bourers as " ferocious animals. Black, livid, sunburnt, 
they seem to be for ever grubbing in the earth; they 
seem to have an articulate voice; and when they stand 
erect they exhibit human features." Thirty thousand 
peasants in one province were obliged to " eat weeds 
and the vilest refuse, and many women and children 
have been found dead on the roadsides and in the fields 
with their mouths full of grass." And this when the 
king daily wearied his Gargantuan appetite with feasts 
of Lucullus ! That mad policy which allowed a super- 
stitious hypocrite, a scheming woman, to exile thou- 
sands of loyal Protestant subjects, men of letters, and 
skilled artisans, the backbone of a country; which per- 
mitted a re-establishment of religious persecution, 
shameful, even for the Middle Ages ; the insane inf atu- 

84 



^nb J^er f amilp 

ation of the king for himself and his greatness — well 
justified the remark of the Queen of Sweden, " He has 
cut off his left hand with his right." He made war 
on all Europe, he quarrelled with the Pope. Those 
persecuted and exiled Huguenots manned the ships 
which defeated his navy. It was a just retribution. 
His reign ended miserably. Such was the joy of the 
people that they built booths, bonfires, had puppet 
shows, and all manner of rejoicings along the route of 
the funeral procession, wending slowly toward St. 
Denis. They cheered and hooted the body of their 
king, which caused the officers and courtiers following 
the royal catafalque to hurry the order of progression 
lest there should be a disturbance which they would be 
unable to control. 

Louis XV, a weak and delicate child, succeeded his 
grandfather at the age of five. He was confronted by 
a dissatisfied kingdom and a starving peasantry ; also by 
a debt of nearly two thousand five hundred millions of 
francs, equal to almost twice that amount at the pres- 
ent value of money. The long regency of the Due 
d'Orleans, with its " Mississippi Bubble," only in- 
creased the critical state of affairs. Unfortunately, the 
habits of the young king, to whom had been given the 
title of Bien Aime during the war in the Netherlands, 
when he was very ill, were not such as were likely 
to restore the country to a firm financial basis. The ca- 
prices of his favourites drained the treasury. He tried 
every method of speculation. He instituted the infamous 
Pact de famine^ which meant that he bought all the 
available grain in France, stored it away, waited till his 
loyal subjects were driven to starvation, and then sold 
it to them at enormous prices ! He would have been a 
shining light to the modern school of finance ! The 
papers of the time give some quaint and amusing notes 
on the subject. The Gentleman' s Magazine on April 
22, 1799, says: "A terrible insurrection happened at 
Rouen, in France, on account of the high price of Pro- 

85 



i^atiame txt Eafapette 

visions. They have exported corn from the coast of 
Normandy and Picardy till the poor of these provinces 
want bread themselves, so predominant is the love of 
gain." In the same magazine, in May, 1775, one year 
after the Bien Aime's death, is the news that: " Insur- 
rections have been general in France on account of the 
dearness of corn. May the ring leaders soon be seized 
and executed without trial — but the cry for bread is 
still unanswered! " Then, on May 31st in the same 
year: " Fourteen of the insurgents, who lately com- 
mitted some disorder in France on account of the high 
price of bread, were executed in the court yard belong- 
ing to the country seat of Mme. de Rouvray, which 
they had plundered since this happened." That his 
most Christian Majesty was hard pressed and driven 
to expedients, may be surmised by the edifying bulle- 
tin which follows, from the same gossiping periodical 
for August 6, 177 1 : 

" An edict was published at Paris imposing an addi- 
tional tax of twenty sols on the head of every hog or 
sow brought into the city for the consumption of the 
inhabitants. This edict has occasioned many puns, 
witticisms, and ballads, which, however, the police took 
no notice of; the prisons being already full as the hos- 
pitals, it was judged well to be sparing in this article 
as well as in many others. 

" As the hogs are not killed in Paris, but brought 
to town in loads without their garbage, and ready for 
sale, one of the undertakers for supplying the town was 
driving his loaded carts into Paris, but had the precau- 
tion first to cut off the heads, which he had left at home. 
When he arrived at the barrier, the clerks demanded 
the new duty, he presented them the Edict, which spe- 
cified the heads only; he bid them search, and if they 
found one single head he consented they should seize 
the whole. The clerks laughed at the joke, but insisted 
that the hogs should not be brought in until the Edict 
was put in execution, and the new tax paid. The un- 

86 



dertaker sent for an attorney and deposited the duty, 
which the attorney protested against, in order to pre- 
vent their disposing of the money until such time as the 
law should pronounce concerning the validity or inva- 
lidity of the Edict." Thus do we see to what straits 
the king was put to get money. What the final deci- 
sion in the case was would be interesting to know. 
" From the sublime to the ridiculous " might be a suit- 
able motto for the money-raising schemes of this reign. 
Ending, or nearly the end, with the edict on those use- 
ful domestic animals; one of the early edicts had been 
issued on July 26th, with this announcement: 

" His Majesty ordains that such of his subjects as 
have obtained the rights and privileges of nobility since 
17 15, by virtue of the office they have enjoyed, shall 
be confirmed in them on their paying, each of them, 
6,000 livres at two sols to the livre, and their wives, 
children, or descendants are to enjoy the same on their 
paying proportional sums, according to the degrees they 
respectively stand in to the deceased." 

" The Jews of Alsace " at this moment offered to 
the king fifty millions of livres for leave to settle in 
Paris and enjoy the privileges of natives, " and that 
they may be allowed a place of worship." Hard 
pressed as he was, it is probable that the king greedily 
gobbled up the bribe, never being — when well — at all 
troubled by religious scruples. 

In May, 1774, an attack of smallpox, contracted in 
a manner not creditable to the king, carried the elderly 
reprobate to his unregretted grave. The usual cere- 
monies of the royal embalming were omitted, as the 
condition of the body was frightful, and a menace 
to those approaching it. When the news of Louis 
XV's death was carried to his grandson and the dau- 
phiness, they fell on their knees, exclaiming: " God help 
us and protect us; we are too young to reign! " Like 
others, they suffered for the sins of their fathers. The 
discontent and misery of generations was about to break 

87 



Sr^atiamc tic Hafapettc anti i$tt f amtlp 

forth. It was incessantly fanned by that class of men 
whose trade is revolution. Left to himself, the peasant 
had not the brain to organise and command others; he 
followed where he was ied. The king was but the play- 
thing of circumstances, but he reigned at a time when 
no man could battle the conditions ... he was an ob- 
ject of pity rather than censure. 



88 



CHAPTER VII 

SHARPLY contrasted with the turmoil of the 
times, the peaceful household of the Duchesse 
d'Ayen presented a picture long to be remem- 
bered. With her loving daughters about her, 
happy in the birth of her first grandchild, for the year 
following the marriage of Adrienne to M. de Lafay- 
ette, her mother busied herself in completing the relig- 
ious education which so early a marriage had left un- 
finished. In her sixteenth year Adrienne made her first 
communion, and, on December 15, 1775, the same 
year, her first child, a daughter, named Henriette for 
Mme. d'Ayen, was born. 

Surrounded by all those dear to her, enraptured in 
the birth of her child — an exceptionally wonderful 
babe, who bid fair to outshine all other infants of her 
acquaintance — the young mother's cup seemed full. 
There was not room for another drop of joy! Inherit- 
ing, as she did, that wonderful love of children, the 
predominant trait of her mother, Adrienne — in reality 
a child herself — found such happiness in the nursery 
that she could with difliculty at times be coaxed from 
its peaceful retirement to take her part in those social 
frivolities which, by virtue of birth and position, she 
was forced to attend. *' Mme. I'Etiquette " insisted 
that she should sometimes appear at court, declaring 
that it was a sin and a shame for a mere child to bury 
herself alive, as though she was an old and ugly 
woman ! As for the wonderful infant, Henriette, why 
the child had her nurses; it was not wise to give all 
one's time to a baby; she, "Mme. I'Etiquette" had 

89 



!^al>ame tie %afa^tttt 

six, and not one had, even for a moment, ever been 
allowed to interfere with the slightest detail of Mme. 
de Mouchy's life ! So Adrienne went sometimes to the 
Petit Trianon, which she liked better than the stately 
formalities of Versailles, mingling in a few of the many 
pleasure parties; after which, oh, how gladly! she flew 
home to the nursery and the wonderful Henriette with 
redoubled vigour. Utterly absorbed in her simple, all- 
sufficient happiness, she felt no foreboding of the awful 
storm which was to blast her happy life, and sweep 
fair France with fire and sorrow. 

To the court of Versailles at this time came one 
Benjamin Franklin, a homely, solid, and quiet man sent 
from the partisans of liberty across the sea, to ask aid 
from the French. He became uproariously popular at 
once. Everything which the human fancy can conceive 
was named after him, even including a stove! Hats, 
canes, scarfs a la Franklin were the mode of the hour. 
There is the indisputable fact that he owes a great 
measure of his popularity to the ever fickle French be- 
ing charmed to annoy and irritate (according to their 
ideas) " perfide Albion." However, he succeeded in 
inflaming the nation with the ignis fatuus of liberty, and 
took as a gift from that heavily taxed and groaning 
country, 9,000,000 francs, arranging a loan of 15,000,- 
000 more. This negotiation was not accomplished at 
once, but occupied some considerable time. Enthu- 
siast among the enthusiastic, first in every plan to aid 
those across the ocean, was Lafayette. His head was 
turned, and he was wild to go to America. He con- 
sulted older and wiser men ; they dissuaded him, his king 
forbade him, but all to no purpose. That friend of 
his family, the Due de Broglie, said to the youthful 
Don Quixote : " I have seen your uncle die in the wars 
of Italy, I witnessed your father's death at the battle 
of Minden, and I will not be accessory to the death of 
the only remaining branch of the family." 

Lafayette would not be persuaded. As he wrote to 

90 



a friend about this time, "At the first news of the 
quarrel, my heart was enrolled in it." Taking a purely- 
impartial view of the matter, Lafayette had everything 
to keep him in France: position, a wife by whom he 
was passionately loved, a child. On all sides he was 
implored not to go. If Lafayette had never set foot 
upon the shores of America the cause of liberty would 
have been fought, would have triumphed. There is 
no particular feat of generalship by which he saved the 
day — no crisis at which his presence alone prevented 
the cause from being lost. Lafayette, as a man, stands 
foremost of his day. He was an exemplary husband 
of affectionate nature; but he was primarily a patriot, 
and one utterly incorruptible. He loved his country 
before all other considerations ; before his country he 
loved liberty ; but this very love made him selfish. He 
naturally felt some regret at leaving home, wife, and 
friends on an uncertain mission, but neither their 
prayers, tears, nor entreaties were able to overcome his 
zeal for the cause of freedom and his great ambition. 
He was mad to go. Not the dangerous condition of 
his wife's health, to whom the shock and grief of his 
departure might cause serious complications of a pos- 
sibly fatal nature to ensue, for one moment detained 
him. His brother-in-law, the Vicomte de Noailles, was 
prevented from accompanying him at the time, as his 
fortune was not at his own disposition. But Lafayette 
was independent of every one on earth. He was rich, 
and burned with chivalric ardour to fight for the op- 
pressed as, in the days of yore, his ancestors had " slain 
their thousands " in response to the waving riband of 
captive beauty. A dead hero is in a measure immune 
from criticism, but it is more than probable that the 
indignant relations and erstwhile guardian of this im- 
petuous youth made remarks in the privacy of their 
apartments in which the phrase "Young fool!" and 
various denominations of that faithful animal recorded 
as belonging to Balaam were prominent. 

91 



!3l[^atiame t»e Hafapette 

This love of liberty and republicanism led to some 
rather amusing actions on the part of the marquis. 
After his marriage his new connections had wished to 
obtain for him a place at court, in the household of 
the Comte de Provence, afterward Louis XVIII. " I 
did not hesitate displeasing them," he writes, " to pre- 
serve my independence." To prevent this, without 
openly opposing the will of those he loved, he man- 
aged in the following manner to offend the prince to 
whose person they wished to attach him. " Having 
met the Comte at a masquerade ball, and recognising 
him under his mask, in the conversation which then 
ensued the Comte endeavouring to display his memory 
to advantage, Lafayette remarked, ' That it was un- 
necessary to take so much trouble to prove that mem- 
ory was the wit of fools.' " The Comte, learning later 
that the marquis had been aware of his incognito, never 
forgave him, and the matter ended. Ended, indeed, 
for a reconciliation never took place between Lafayette 
and that prince, later king. 

So much and such bitter opposition to his cherished 
projects made the youth of nineteen complete all his 
preparations with the greatest secrecy. He was for- 
bidden by those in authority to leave France. Previous 
to his final departure for America, he spent some time 
in London, from where the following letter to his 
father-in-law will serve to explain the state of his 
feelings : 

London, March 9, 1777. 

" You will be astonished, my dear father, at the 
news I am on the point of giving you ; it has cost me 
far more than I can express not to consult you. My 
respect and affection for you, as well as my great con- 
fidence in you, must convince you of the truth of this 
assertion; but my word was given, and you would not 
have esteemed me had I broken it; the step I am now 
taking will at least prove to you, I hope, the goodness 

92 



^nH i^er f amilp 

of my intentions. I have found a particular oppor- 
tunity of distinguishing myself and of learning a sol- 
dier's trade. I am a general officer In the Army of the 
United States of America. The frankness of my con- 
duct, and my zeal in their service, have completely won 
their confidence. I have done on my side all I could do 
for them, and their interests will ever be dearer to me 
than my own. In short, my dear father, I am at this 
moment In London anxiously awaiting letters from my 
friends ; upon receiving them I shall set off from hence, 
and, without stopping at Paris, I shall embark in a ves- 
sel that I have myself purchased and chartered. My 
travelling companions are the Baron de Kalb, a very 
distinguished officer. Brigadier in the King's service, 
and Major General, as well as myself In the United 
States Army, and some other excellent officers who have 
kindly consented to share the chances of my fate. I 
am rejoiced at having found such a glorious opportu- 
nity of occupying myself and of acquiring knowledge. 
I am conscious that I am making an immense sacrifice, 
and that to quit my family, my friends, and you, my 
dearest father, costs me more than it could do any other 
person, because I love you all far more than any other 
person ever loved his friends. But this voyage will not 
be a very long one; we see every day far longer jour- 
neys taken for amusement only, and I hope also to re- 
turn more worthy of all those who are kind enough 
to regret my absence. Adieu, my dear father, I hope I 
shall soon see you again. Retain your affection for me ; 
I ardently desire to merit It — nay, I do merit It already 
from my warm affection toward you, and from the re- 
spect that, during the remainder of his life will be felt 
for you by Your affectionate son, 

" Lafayette." 



The spring of the year 1777 brought much sorrow 
to that happy household. In April the plans of going 

93 



9i^dtiame tie Hafapette 

to America were fully completed and announced by La- 
fayette to his family. " I loved him tenderly," wrote 
his wife. " On hearing the news my father and all the 
family fell into a state of violent anger. My mother, 
dreading these emotions for me on account of the state 
of health I was in, alarmed at the dangers her dearly 
beloved son had gone to seek so far, having herself 
less than anybody in the world the thirst for ambition 
and of worldly glory or a taste for enterprise, appre- 
ciated, nevertheless, M. de Lafayette's conduct as it 
was two years later appreciated by the rest of the world. 
Totally casting aside all care with regard to the im- 
mense expense of such an enterprise, she found from 
the first moment in the manner in which it had been 
prepared, a motive for distinguishing it from what is 
termed une folie de jeiine homme. His sorrow on 
leaving his wife and those who were dear to him con- 
vinced her that she need not fear for the happiness of 
my life, save in proportion to her fears for his. It 
was she who gave me the cruel news of his departure, 
and, with the generous tenderness which was peculiar 
to her, she tried to comfort me by finding the means of 
serving M. de Lafayette." 

Familiar as are the affairs of Lafayette, little need 
be said. In the ship chartered and fitted at his own 
expense — and a great expense it was, far greater than 
he was justified in devoting to the cause — he crossed 
the ocean, eluding the British ships sent out to intercept 
him, and arriving in America, shortly joined the army 
of Washington. 

The fearful anxiety of the young wife can hardly 
be painted. Scarcely eighteen, passionately in love with 
her husband, unable, from the delicacy of her health, 
to amuse herself as she otherwise might have done, she 
bravely tried to conceal her grief from those who sur- 
rounded her, lest they should blame the absent hus- 
band for causing it. But it cannot be denied she moped 
secretly, and her pillow could have told a nightly tale 

94 



anil 1$tt iPamilp 

of tears. Her early letters to her husband were lost, 
and their fate cannot be guessed; they never reached 
the young adventurer, whose epistles to his beloved 
tell the history of his doings in brief without much allu- 
sion to American affairs. It must have been awful, 
sickening, to wait, as they did then, for the slow sailing 
craft with its eagerly anticipated tidings — even the re- 
ports of disaster were better than that blank, dreary, 
soul-chilling silence. News travelled at that time more 
slowly than we can comprehend. Days, weeks, passed 
in the keenest anxiety. The waiting wife did not know 
if her husband had arrived at his destination, had been 
captured by the English, if he even lived. Then the 
first letter, cruelly slow in reaching her, came at last : 

On Board the Victory, May 30, 1777. 

" I am writing to you from a great distance, my 
dearest love, and, in addition to this painful circum- 
stance, I feel also the still more dreadful uncertainty 
of the time in which I may receive any news of you. I 
hope, however, soon to have a letter from you; and 
amongst the various reasons which render me so desir- 
ous of a speedy arrival, this is the one which excites in 
me the greatest degree of impatience. How many 
fears and anxieties enhance the keen anguish I feel at 
being separated from all that I love most fondly in the 
world! How have you borne my second departure? 
Have you loved me less? Have you pardoned me? 
Have you reflected that at all events I must equally have 
been parted from you, wandering about in Italy, drag- 
ging on a lugubrious life, surrounded by persons most 
opposed to my projects and to my manner of thinking? 
All these reflections did not prevent me experiencing 
the most bitter grief when the moment arrived for quit- 
ting my native shore. Your sorrow and that of my 
friends, Adrienne, all rushed upon my thoughts, and 
my heart was torn by a thousand painful feelings. I 
could not at that instant find any excuse for my own con- 

95 



i^aiiame tie Eafapette 

duct. If you could know all that I have suffered and 
the melancholy days that I have passed while thus fly- 
ing from all that I love best in the world! Must I join 
to this affliction the grief of hearing that you do not 
pardon me? I should in truth, my love, be too un- 
happy. But I am not speaking to you of myself and 
of my health, and I well know that these details will 
deeply interest you. 

" Since writing my last letter, I have been confined 
to the most dreary of all regions; the sea is so melan- 
choly that it and I mutually, I believe, sadden each 
other. I ought to have landed by this time, but the 
winds have been most provokingly contrary. I shall 
not arrive at Charlestown for eight or ten days. I shall 
be a great pleasure to me to land, as I am expecting to 
do, in that city. When I am once more on shore I 
shall hope each day to receive news from France. I 
shall learn so many interesting things, both concern- 
ing the new country I am seeking, and, above all, that 
home I have quitted with so much regret! Provided 
I only learn that you are in good health, that you still 
love me, and that a certain number of my friends enter- 
tain the same feelings towards me, I can become a per- 
fect philosopher with respect to all the rest, whatever 
it may be or whatever land it may concern. But if my 
heart be attacked in its most vulnerable part, if you 
were to love me less, I should feel, in truth, too mis- 
erable. But I need not fear this, need I, my dearest 
love ? I was very ill during the first part of my voyage, 
and I might have enjoyed the pleasure of an ill- 
natured person, that of knowing I had many fellow- 
sufferers. I treated myself according to my own judg- 
ment, and recovered sooner than the other passengers; 
I am now nearly the same as if I were on shore. I am 
certain that on my arrival I shall be in a perfect state 
of health, and continue so for a long time. Do not 
fancy that I shall incur any real dangers by the occu- 
pations I am undertaking. The post of general officer 

96 



^nli i^er ifamilp 

has always been considered like a commission for im- 
mortality. The service will be very different from the 
one I must have performed if I had been, for example, 
a Colonel in the French army. My attendance will only 
be required in the council. Ask the opinions of all gen- 
eral officers — and these are very numerous, because, hav- 
ing once attained that height, they are no longer exposed 
to any hazards, and do not therefore yield their place. 
to inferior officers, as is the case in other situations. To 
prove that I do not wish to deceive you, I will acknowl- 
edge that we are at this moment exposed to some dan- 
ger from the risk of being attacked by English vessels, 
and that my ship is not of sufficient force for defence. 
But when I have once landed, I shall be in perfect 
safety. You see that I tell you everything, my dearest 
love ; confide therefore in me, and do not, I conjure you, 
give way to idle fears. I will not write you a journal 
of my voyage; days succeed each other, and what is 
worse, resemble each other. Always sky, always water, 
and the next day a repetition of the same thing. In 
truth, those who write volumes upon a sea voyage must 
be incessant babblers; for my part, I have had con- 
trary winds, as well as other people ; I have encountered 
storms, I have seen vessels, and they were far more 
interesting for me than for any other person; well, I 
have not observed one single event worth the trouble of 
relating, or that has not been described by many other 
persons. 

" Let me speak of more important things; of your- 
self, of dear Henriette, and of her brother or sister. 
Henriette is so delightful that she has made me in love 
with little girls. To whichever sex our new infant may 
belong, I shall receive it with unbounded joy. Lose 
not a moment in hastening my happiness by apprising 
me of its birth. 

" We have seen to-day Several kinds of birds, which 
announce that we are not very far ^rom shore. The 

97 



iSi^dtiaine tie Hafapette 

hope of arriving is very sweet, for a ship life is a most 
wearisome one. My health, fortunately, allows me to 
occupy myself a little; I divide my time between mili- 
tary books and English books. I have made some 
progress in this language, which will become very 
necessary to me. Adieu. Night obliged me to discon- 
tinue my letter, as I have forbidden, some days since, 
any candles being used in my vessels; see how prudent 
I have become I Once more, adieu ; if my fingers be at 
all guided by my heart, it is not necessary to see clearly 
to tell you that I love you, and that I shall love you all 
my life." 

15th June — AT Major Huger's. 

" I have arrived, my dearest love, in perfect health, 
at the house of an American officer; and, by the most 
fortunate chance in the world, a French vessel is on the 
point of sailing ; conceive how happy I am. I am going 
this evening to Charlestown, from whence I will write 
you. There is no important news. The campaign is 
opened, but there is no fighting, or at least, very little. 
The manners in this part of the world are simple, 
polite, and worthy in every respect of the country in 
which the noble name of liberty is constantly repeated. 
I intended writing to Mme. d'Ayen, but I find it is im- 
possible. Adieu, my love. From Charlestown I shall 
repair by land to Philadelphia, to rejoin the army. Is 
it not true that you will always love me? " 

Is there not a certain ingenuousness and simplicity 
in this letter of the boy of nineteen which, even after 
this lapse of time, appeals to the reader? Homesick 
he must have been, regretting at times that he had fol- 
lowed his desire for glory to the other side of the 
world. No doubt he had pictured his part in the strug- 
gle for liberty as one in which there was excitement, 
constant, brilliant action, based on his familiarity with 
the manoeuvres of the French army; dashing on at the 

98 




%m ^tt f amilp 

head of his troops to glory. How different the slow, 
dragging struggle, the undisciplined, half-dressed sol- 
diers, the weary waiting ! But he was true to the cause 
he had undertaken to uphold, and plenty of letters went 
to cheer the miserably anxious wife. In the next in 
order from Charlestown, he says: 

Charlestown, June 19, 1777. 
" I landed after having sailed for several days 
along a coast swarming with hostile vessels. On my 
arrival here every one told me that my ship must un- 
doubtedly be taken, because two English frigates had 
blockaded the harbour. I even sent, both by land and 
sea, orders to the Captain to put the men on shore and 
burn the vessel if he had still the power of doing so. 
. . . Well, by a most extraordinary piece of good for- 
tune, a sudden gale of wind having blown away the frig- 
ates for a short time, the vessel arrived at noonday 
without having encountered friend or foe. At Charles- 
town I have met with General Howe, a general officer, 
now engaged in service. The governor of the state is 
expected this evening from the country. All the per- 
sons with whom I wished to be acquainted have shown 
me the greatest attention and politeness (not European 
politeness merely) ; I can only feel gratitude for the 
reception I have met with, although I have not yet 
thought it proper to enter into any details respecting 
my future prospects and arrangements. I wish to see 
the Congress first. I hope to set out in two days for 
Philadelphia, which is a land journey of more than 
two hundred and fifty leagues. We shall divide into 
small parties, I have already purchased horses and 
light carriages for this purpose. There are some 
French and American vessels at present here which are 
to sail out of the harbour in company to-morrow morn- 
ing, taking advantage of a moment when the frigates 
are out of sight; they are numerous and armed, and 
have promised me to defend themselves stoutly against 

99 
LfJFa 



Sl^atiame lie Hafapette 

the small privateers they will undoubtedly meet with. I 
shall distribute my letters among the different ships, in 
case any accident should happen to either one of them. 
" I shall now speak to you, my love, about the coun- 
try and its inhabitants, who are as agreeable as my 
enthusiasm had led me to imagine. Simplicity of man- 
ner, kindness of heart, love of country and of liberty, 
and a delightful state of equality are met with univer- 
sally. The richest and the poorest man are completely 
on a level; and although there are some immense for- 
tunes in this country, I may challenge any one to point 
out the slightest difference in their respective manner 
towards each other. I first saw and judged of country 
life at Major Huger's house; and I am at present in 
the city, where everything somewhat resembles the Eng- 
lish customs, except that you find more simplicity here 
than you would do in England. Charlestown is one 
of the best built, handsomest, and most agreeable cities 
that I have ever seen. The American women are very 
pretty, and have great simplicity of character, and the 
extreme neatness of their appearance is truly delight- 
ful; cleanliness is everywhere even more studiously at- 
tended to here than in England. What gives me most 
pleasure is to see how completely the citizens are all 
brethren of one family. In America there are none 
poor, and none even that can be called peasants. Each 
citizen has some property, and all citizens have the 
same. rights as the richest individual, or the landed pro- 
prietor in the country. The inns are very different 
from those of Europe; the hosts and hostesses sit at 
the table with you, and do the honours of a comfort- 
^able meal; and when you depart you pay your bill with- 
lout being obliged to tax it. If you should dislike going 
to inns, you may always find country houses in which 
you will be received as a good American, and with the 
same attention that you might expect in a friend's house 
in Europe. 



100 




MADAME LA COMTESSE D'AYEN 
GREAT-GRANDMOTHER OF MME. DE LAFAYETTE 



From a rare print in the Bibleotheque Nationale, Paris 



^nti i^er f amilp 

" I often ask you If you still love, but I put that 
question still more often to myself and my heart ever 
answers, yes ; I trust that heart does not deceive me. I 
am inexpressibly anxious to hear from you; I hope to 
find some letters at Philadelphia. My only fear is that 
the privateer which was to bring them to me should 
have been captured on her way. Although I can easily 
imagine that I have excited the especial displeasure of 
the English by taking the liberty of coming hither in 
spite of them, and landing before their very face, yet 
I must confess that we shall be even more than on a 
par if they succeed in catching that vessel, the object 
of my fondest hopes, by which I am expecting to re- 
ceive your letters. I entreat you to send me both long 
and frequent letters. You are not sufficiently conscious 
of the joy with which I shall receive them. Embrace 
most tenderly my Henriette; may I add, embrace our 
children? The father of those poor children is a wan- 
derer, but he is, nevertheless, a good, honest man — a 
good father, warmly attached to his family, and a good 
husband also, for he loves his wife most tenderly. . . . 
Adieu, then, my dearest love; I must leave off for 
want of time and paper, and if I do not repeat ten 
thousand times that I love you, it is not for want 
of affection, but from my having the vanity to hope 
that I have already convinced you of it. The night 
is far advanced, the heat intense, and I am de- 
voured by gnats; but the best countries, as you per- 
ceive, have their inconveniences. Adieu, my love, 
adieu." 

More and more homesick grows the tone of the let- 
ters. All the carefully penned epistles of his " dearest 
love " went — who can tell where? They did not reach 
their destination. Of the death of poor little Hen- 
riette, when twenty-two months old, the young father 
remained in ignorance, also that a second child had 
come to take the place of the first-born. At times pas- 

lOI 



sages of his letters are almost pathetic. From Peters- 
burg, Va., on July 17, 1777, he writes: 

** I have received no news of you, and my impa- 
tience to arrive at Philadelphia to hear from you can- 
not be compared to any other earthly feeling. Con- 
ceive the state of my mind, after having passed such 
an immense length of time without having received a 
line from my friend ! I hope all this will soon end, for 
I cannot live in such a state of uncertainty. I have 
undertaken a task which is, in truth, beyond my power, 
for my heart was not formed for so much suffering. 

" You must have learnt the particulars of the com- 
mencement of my journey; you know that I set out in 
a brilliant manner in a carriage, and I must now tell 
you that we are all on horseback — having broken the 
carriage, according to my usual praiseworthy custom — 
and I hope soon to write you that we have arrived on 
foot. The journey is somewhat fatiguing, but al- 
though several of my comrades have suffered a good 
deal, I have scarcely myself been conscious of fatigue. 
The captain who takes charge of this letter will, per- 
haps, pay you a visit. I beg you in that case to receive 
him with great kindness. 

" I scarcely dare think of the time of your confine- 
ment, and yet I think of it every moment of the day. 
I cannot dwell upon it without the most dreadful anx- 
iety. I am, indeed, unfortunate at being so distant 
from you; even if you did not love me, you ought to 
pity me; but you do love me, and we shall mutually 
render each other happy. This little note will be short 
in comparison to the volumes I have already sent you, 
but you shall receive another letter in a few days 
from me. 

" The farther I advance to the north the better 
pleased am I with the country and its inhabitants. 
There is no attention or kindness that I do not receive, 
although many scarcely know who I am. But I will 

102 



^nti i^er familp 

write all this to you in more detail from Philadelphia. 
I have only time to entreat you, my dearest love, not 
to forget an unhappy man, who pays most dearly for 
the error he committed in parting from you, and who 
never felt before how tenderly he loved you . . . ." 

A few days later he says: " I am each day more 
miserable from having quitted you, my dearest love, 
and I hope to receive news of you at Philadelphia, and 
this hope adds much to the impatience I feel to arrive 
at that city. Adieu, my life; I am in such haste that 
I know not what I write, but I do know that I love you 
more tenderly than ever; that the pain of this separa- 
tion was necessary to convince me how very dear you 
are to me, and that I would give at this moment half 
my existence for the pleasure of embracing you again, 
and telling you with my own lips how well I love you. 
. . . O ! if you knew how I sigh to see you, how I 
suffer at being separated from you, and all that my 
heart has been called upon to endure, you would think 
me somewhat worthy of your love." \. - 

Poor unhappy young couple! Adrienne, torn with 
anxiety, in the most delicate and precarious condition 
of health, mourning for her lost child; her absent hus- 
band, who now, of all times, should have been at her 
side ; and, to add to all, came the news of her husband's 
having been severely wounded at the battle of Brandy- 
wine. So fearful were those who loved her for her 
health, that they concealed this news from her, and the 
first she heard of it was in a letter of her husband, who 
wrote : 

^ Philadelphia, September 12, 1777. 

"I write you a line, my dearest love, by some 
French officers, my friends who embarked with me, but 
not having received any appointment in the American 
army, are now returning to France. J must begin by 

103 



!^atidme tie %afaptttt 

telling you that I am perfectly well, because I must 
end by telling you that we fought seriously last night, 
and that we were not the strongest on the field of battle. 
Our Americans, after having stood their ground for 
some time, ended at length by being routed; whilst en- 
deavouring to rally them, the English honoured me 
with a musket ball, which slightly wounded me in the 
leg, but it is a trifle, my dearest love; the ball touched 
neither bone nor nerve, and I have escaped with the obli- 
gation of lying on my back for some time, which puts 
me much out of humour. I hope that you will feel no 
anxiety; this event ought, on the contrary, rather to 
reassure you, since I am incapacitated from appearing 
on the field for some time; I have resolved to take 
great care of myself, be convinced of this, my love. 

" You must have received many letters from me, 
unless the English be equally ill disposed towards my 
epistles as towards my legs. I have not yet received one 
letter, and I am most impatient to hear from you. 
Adieu, I am forbidden to write longer. For several 
days I have not had time to sleep. Our retreat and 
my journey hither took up the whole of last night; I 
am perfectly well taken care of in this place. Tell all 
my friends that I am in good health. . . . The officers 
will soon set out, they will see you; what pleasure! 
Good night, my dearest life! I love you better than 
ever." 

In addition to the many sorrows experienced by 
Mme. de Lafayette, she suffered keenly, on the arrival 
of each letter from the unhappy wanderer, from the 
knowledge that all her letters, filled with the love and 
affection which she felt for her husband, had failed to 
reach their destination. She feared that he should think 
her neglectful, or wanting in tenderness. That he 
might think she amused herself in the time which she 
should have devoted to him. She could not explain. 

104 



^nti J^^r familp 

Loving him as she did with every fibre of her being, 
the thought was agony to her. To a nature so noble 
and just, the idea of being misunderstood, perchance 
blamed, by the one she loved most on earth, was in- 
sufferable. Her one consolation was in receiving the 
letters so often written, so tenderly expressed, by the 
ardent patriot. That telling of his wound caused her 
terrible anxiety. She was in a fever till the arrival of 
the next letter, written two weeks later, somewhat re- 
lieved her mind. The wounded man wrote cheerfully. 

" My first occupation was to write to you the day 
after that affair. I told you that it was a mere trifle, 
and I was right; all I fear is that you should not have 
received my letter. As General Howe is giving, in the 
meantime, rather pompous details of his American ex- 
ploits to the King, his master, if he should write word 
that I am wounded, he may also write word that I am 
killed, which would not cost him anything; but I hope 
that my friends, and you especially, will not give faith 
to the reports of those persons who last year dared to 
publish that General Washington and all the general 
officers of his army, being in a boat together, had been 
upset and every individual drowned. But let us speak 
about the wound. It is only a flesh wound, and had 
neither touched bone nor nerve. The surgeons are as- 
tonished at the rapidity with which it heals; they are 
in an ecstasy of joy each time they dress it, and pretend 
it is the finest thing in the world ; on my part, I think it 
is most disagreeable, painful, and wearisome ; but tastes 
differ. If a man, however, wished to be wounded for 
his amusement only, he should come and examine how 
I have been struck that he might be struck precisely 
in the same manner. This, my dearest love, is what I 
pompously style my wound, to give myself airs and ren- 
der myself interesting. 

" I must give you your lesson as the wife of an 
American general officer. They will say to you : * They 

105 



<^ahmnt ht Hafa^ette 

have been beaten.' You must answer : ' That is true ; 
but when two armies of equal numbers meet in the field, 
old soldiers have naturally the advantage over new 
ones; they have had, besides, the pleasure of killing a 
great many of the enemy, many more than they have 
lost.' They will afterwards add : ' All that is very well ; 
but Philadelphia is taken, the Capital of America, the 
rampart of Liberty ! ' You must politely answer : ' You 
are all great fools! Philadelphia is a poor forlorn 
town, exposed on every side, whose harbour was already 
closed ; though the residence of Congress lent it, I know 
not why, some degree of celebrity. This is the famous 
city which, it may be added, we will soon make them 
yield back to us! ' If they continue to persecute you 
with questions, you may send them about their business 
in terms which the Vicomte de Noailles will teach you, 
for I cannot lose time by talking to you of politics. 

" I have delayed writing your letter till the last, in 
the hope of receiving one from you. . . . Recollect, 
my dearest love, that I have only once heard of you, 
from Count Pulaski. I am much provoked and am 
very miserable. Imagine how dreadful it is to be far 
from all I love, in this state of suspense and almost 
despair; it is impossible to support it, and I feel, at the 
same time, that I do not deserve to be pitied. Why 
was I so obstinately bent on coming hither? I have 
been well punished for my error; my affections are too 
strongly rooted for me to be able to perform such 
deeds. I hope you pity me. If you knew all I suffer, 
especially at this moment, when everything concerning 
you is so deeply interesting! I cannot, without shud- 
dering, think of this. I am told that a parcel has ar- 
rived from France; I have dispatched expresses on 
every road and in every corner; I have sent an officer 
to Congress; I am expecting him every day, and you 
may conceive with what feelings of intense anxiety. 
My surgeon is also very anxious for his arrival, for 
this suspense keeps my blood in a state of effervescence, 

io6 



yr 



and he would fain require that it should flow calmly. 
O, my dearest life, if I receive good news from you and 
all I love, if those delightful letters arrive to-day, how 
happy I shall be ! but with what agitation, also, I shall 
open them ! " . . . 

Despite the fact that he received no news of any 
kind from his wife, relations, or friends, the young sol- 
dier undauntedly, persistently, continued to write on 
every opportunity. " Hope springs eternal," and by 
the very persistence of his efforts he resolved to force 
those longed-for missives from an unkind fate. No 
explanation is offered for the non-arrival of the letters 
from his wife. The only supposition being that they 
were Intercepted by the English privateers and other 
ships, constantly hovering around at this time. Why 
the ships, bearing news from the American side of the 
water were more fortunate, Is one of those things im- 
possible to explain. In this Instance, almost the only 
one In her eventful life, was the mind of Mme. de 
Lafayette spared more anxiety than was naturally inci- 
dent to the situation of her husband, and the grief 
caused by the long separation. Though the happen- 
ings of the minute were of world-wide interest, the 
mind of Lafayette was not too much occupied to write 
in a strain ten million times more satisfactory to his 
" dearest love " than the most eloquent epic based on 
the battles of the Revolution could have been. He was 
of a loving and affectionate nature, and the little com- 
fort he had In his exile consisted In reiterating that fact 
to one so dear to him. 

Again he writes: 



The Camp near Whitmarsh, Oct. 29, 1777. 

" I send you an open letter, my dearest love, in the 
person of M. de Valfort, my friend, whom I entreat 
you to receive as such. He will tell you at length 
everything concerning me, but I must tell you myself 

107 



0^atiame tie Hafapette 

how well I love you. ... Is it not dreadful, my love, 
to reflect that it is by the public, by English papers, by 
our enemy's gazettes, that I should receive intelligence 
concerning you? In an unimportant article relating to 
my arrival here, they ended by speaking of yourself, 
your approaching confinement. . . . 

"A thousand tender regards to your mother; my 
kind regards to your sisters. Do not forget my compli- 
ments to the Marechal de Noailles, and to your pater- 
nal and maternal relations. I have received four fool- 
ish lines from the Marechal de Mouchy, who does not 
say one word of you ; I swore at him in every language. 
Adieu, my love, adieu ; ask questions of my good excel- 
lent friend, M. de Valfort, for my paper is coming to 
a close. It is dreadful to be reduced to hold no com- 
munication but by letter with a person whom one loves 
as I love you, and as I ever shall love you until I draw 
my latest breath. 

" I have not missed a single opportunity, not even 
the most indirect one, without writing to you. Do the 
same also on your side, my dearest life, if you love me; 
but I should indeed be unfeeling and ungrateful if I 
were to doubt you." 

" Fortune favours the brave," we are told, and at 
last he received the longed-for letters, which he men- 
tions in a rather amusing one which follows, written 
nearly two weeks later, while at the same camp : 

Camp at Whitmarsh, November 6, 1777. 

" You will perhaps receive this letter, my dearest 
love, at the expiration of five or six years, for I am writ- 
ing to you by an accidental opportunity, in which I do 
not place great trust. See what a circuit my letter must 
make. An officer in the army will carry it to Fort Pitt, 
three hundred miles in the interior of the continent; it 
will then embark on the great Ohio river, and traverse 
regions inhabited only by savages ; having reached New 

108 



i^lnti f$tt f amilp 

Orleans, a small vessel will transport it to the Spanish 
Islands; a ship of that nation will carry it with her on 
her return to Europe. But it will even then be very 
distant from you ; and it is only after having been soiled 
by the dirty hands of all the Spanish postmasters that 
it will be allowed to pass the Pyrenees. It may very 
possibly be unsealed and resealed five or six times before 
it be finally placed in your hands ; but it will prove to you 
that I neglect no opportunity, not even the most indirect 
one, of sending you news of myself, and repeating how 
well I love you. It is, however, for my own satisfaction 
only that I delight to tell you so at present. I hope 
that I shall have the pleasure of throwing this letter 
in the fire when it arrives, for be it understood I shall 
be there also, and my presence will render this piece of 
paper very insignificant. The idea is most soothing to 
my heart, and I indulge it with rapture. How enchant- 
ing to think of the moments when we shall be together ! 
but how painful to recollect that my joy is only caused 
by an illusion, and that I am separated from the reality 
of my happiness by two thousand leagues, an immense 
ocean, and villainous English vessels. Those wretched 
vessels make me very unhappy. One letter, only one, 
have I yet received from you, my love ; the others have 
been lost or taken, and are probably at the bottom of 
the sea. I must consider our enemy the cause of this 
dreadful loss, for I am certain you do not neglect to 
write to me from every port, and by all the despatches 
sent by Dr. Franklin and Mr. Deane. And yet some 
ships arrived. I have sent couriers to every corner of 
the Continent, but all my hopes have been frustrated. 
Perhaps you have not been properly informed. I en- 
treat you, my love, to inquire carefully in what manner 
you may best send your letters. It is so dreadful to me 
to be deprived of them, and I am so unhappy at being 
separated from all I love! I am guilty, it is true, of 
having caused my own calamity, but you would pity 
me if you knew all that my heart endured. ... A lit- 

109 



^[^diidme tie Hafapette 

tie gentleman in a blue coat, with lemon-coloured fa- 
cings and a white waistcoat, a German, coming hither 
to solicit an employment (which he will not obtain), 
and speaking wretched French, told me that he quitted 
Europe in the month of August; he talked to me of 
politics and of the ministry; he will upset all Europe 
generally, and every court individually ; but he knew not 
a word of what was most interesting to my heart. I 
examined him in every way ; I mentioned fifty names to 
him ; his answer was always, ' Me not know them noble- 
men !'"... ..^ 

From the camp at Valley Forge, surrounded by 
snow and ice, he again writes to his wife. This time 
there is once more a hint of that lo^^e of glory, that 
patriotic fervour, which had caused him to sacrifice so 
much to his ideals. He overlooks the poor shelter, 
mean circumstances, and privations inseparable from 
such a situation, for which he had relinquished wife, 
home, friends, and the comforts of luxurious France. 
The patriotic fires in his heart made him oblivious that 
it was icy cold — that the wind howled, the snow drifted 
through the ill-built shelters of the camp. Buoyed by 
faith in his cause, by the hope that soon, with the spring- 
time, he would be reunited with his family, the short, 
dreary, winter days passed. 

[ " The bearer of this letter will describe the pleasant 
residence which I chose in preference to the happiness 
of being with you, with my friends, in the midst of all 
possible enjoyments," he writes later. " In truth, my 
love, do you not believe that powerful reasons are requi- 
site to induce a person to make such a sacrifice ? Every- 
thing combined to urge me to depart; honour alone 
told me to remain, and when you learn in detail the 
circumstances in which I am placed, you will not only 
forgive me, but you will excuse, and I may almost ven- 
ture to say, applaud me. What a pleasure I shall take 

no 



in explaining to you myself all the reasons of my con- 
duct, and in asking, while embracing you, a pardon, 
which I am very certain I shall then obtain! But do 
not condemn me before hearing my defense. In addi- 
tion to the reasons I have given you, there Is one other 
reason which I would not relate to every one, because 
it might appear like affecting airs of ridiculous Impor- 
tance. My presence is more necessary to the American 
cause than you can possibly conceive; many foreigners 
who have been refused employment, or whose ambi- 
tious views have been frustrated, have raised up some 
powerful cabals; they have endeavoured by every sort 
of artifice to make me discontented with this revolution 
and with him who is its chief; they have spread as 
widely as they could the report that I was quitting the 
continent. The English have proclaimed also, loudly, 
the same Intention on my side. I cannot in conscience 
appear to justify the malice of these people. If I were 
to depart many Frenchmen who are useful here would 
follow my example. General Washington would feel 
very unhappy if I were to speak of quitting him; his 
confidence In me Is greater than I dare acknowledge, on 
account of my youth. In the place he occupies he Is 
likely to be surrounded by flatterers or secret enemies; 
he finds In me a sincere friend, in whose bosom he may 
always confide his most secret thoughts, and who will 
always speak the truth." 

At this moment he was as yet unaware of the death 
of his eldest child, Henriette, who passed from this 
world In October, of the year 1777, six months after 
her father left France. In another part of the letter 
quoted above, he says : " What a pleasure It will give 
me to embrace my two poor little girls, and make them 
request their mother to forgive me ! You do not be- 
lieve me so hard-hearted, and at the same time so ridicu- 
lous, as to suppose that the sex of our new infant can 

III 



!^atiame tie Eafapette 

have diminished in any degree my joy at its birth. . . . 
However, if it be on account of the name that we are 
to regret not having a son, I declare that I have formed 
the project of hving long enough to bear it myself, 
before I yield it to any other person. I am indebted to 
the Marechale de Noailles for the joyful news . . . 
say a thousand respectful things from me to her " 
(Mme. de Fronsac) " as well as to the Comtesse Au- 
guste " (de la Marck). " If those ladies do not enter 
into the reasons which induce me to remain here, they 
must indeed think me an absurd being, more especially 
as they have opportunities of seeing clearly what a 
charming wife I am separated from ; but even that may 
prove to them what powerful motives must guide my 
conduct. Several general officers have brought their 
wives to the camp. I envy them — not their wives — but 
the happiness they enjoy in being able to see them. 
General Washington has also resolved to send for his 
wife. As to the English, they have received a rein- 
forcement of three hundred young ladies from New 
York; and we have captured a vessel filled with chaste 
officers' wives, who had come to rejoin their husbands; 
they were in great fear of being kept for the American 
army. . . . 

" Do you not think that at my return we shall be 
old enough to establish ourselves in our own house, 
live there happily together, receive our friends, insti- 
tute a delightful state of freedom, and read foreign 
newspapers, without feeling any curiosity to judge for 
ourselves of what may pass in foreign countries? I 
enjoy thus building in France castles of felicity and 
pleasure; you always share them with me, my dearest 
love, and when we are once more united nothing shall 
again separate us, or prevent our experiencing together 
and through each other the joy of mutual affection and 
the sweetest and most tranquil happiness. Adieu, my 
love, I only wish this project could be executed on the 
present day. ..." 

112 



Of that long and dreary winter at Valley Forge the 
world knows too much to make details interesting. 
Even the bravest hearts sometimes became doubtful of 
the ending of the struggle. It is hard to be patriotic 
and hopeful when the pangs of hunger vie with the love 
of country, and the winter frosts nip, with great impar- 
tiality, the exposed portions of the patriotic anatomy! 
But they struggled doggedly on. In the ardent heart 
of the young Frenchman there was a terrible all-con- 
suming desire to fly to the home, the wife who lan- 
guished in his absence. Poor Adrienne ! At times the 
separation was more than she could endure ; worse from 
the fact that, fearing to add to the blame which she 
knew her family secretly heaped on her husband, she 
stifled those feelings which it would have been such a 
rehef to have expressed, to have sobbed out on a com- 
forting shoulder. She was at this time only eighteen, 
and, but for her peculiar disposition, might have passed 
the time gaily in the society of those who were her 
friends, and at the court, then famous for its extrava- 
gances and much exaggerated doings. She devoted 
herself to the new child, whose presence brought com- 
fort to the heart still mourning the loss of little Hen- 
riette. She continued to write to her husband at each 
and every opportunity which presented, and some of 
these letters seem to have been more fortunate in reach- 
ing their destination, though some miscarried. As time 
wore on and Lafayette became more interested and 
reconciled to the new life and surroundings, there creeps 
into his letters a different tone. There is more talk of 
the affairs in which he was playing a daily part; less 
homesickness and repinings. Time softens the edges 
of all things, even harrowing separations, and it is a 
matter of conjecture if, after the first few months, the 
separation was not much more keenly felt by Adrienne 
de Lafayette than by her husband. She was the one 
to remain behind, in the midst of familiar daily sur- 
roundings; all hallowed and associated with the sweet- 

113 



iSt^atiame be Hafapette 

est memories a woman can have — those of her court- 
ship and early married life. Her husband's name was 
constantly on the lips of her mother and sisters; every 
instant she was reminded of him, while he was among 
strangers with whom he had no previous acquaintance 
or connection. No lips in that far-off country called 
her name; no one thought of her, save the very few 
to whom the exiled marquis confided the sorrows and 
anxieties which beset his soul, finding much comfort in 
the calm, strong friendship of General Washington, 
for whom, in truth, he had sacrificed much, when he 
might have returned to France. Lafayette wrote con- 
stantly to those at home during that winter, but nothing 
of great importance. As usual, he complains of re- 
ceiving no letters. 

Valley Forge Camp, in Pennsylvania, 

April 14, 1778. 

"If thirty opportunities were to present themselves 
at once, my dearest love, you may rest assured that I 
would write thirty letters, and that, if you do not re- 
ceive any news from me, I have nothing, at least, to 
reproach myself with. . . . Respecting your own (let- 
ters), my love, I prefer accusing fate, the waves and 
Lord Howe, and the devil, to suspecting you of negli- 
gence. I am convinced that you will not allow a single 
opportunity to escape of writing to me; but I should 
feel, if possible, still more so if I could only hope that 
you knew the degree of happiness your letters give me. 
I love you more ardently than ever, and repeated assur- 
ances of your affection are absolutely necessary to my 
repose, and to that species of fehcity which I can enjoy 
whilst separated from all I love most fondly — if, how- 
ever, the word felicity can be applied to my melancholy, 
exiled state. Endeavour to afford me some consola- 
tion, and neglect no opportunity of writing to me. 
Millions of ages have elapsed since I have received a 
line from any one. This complete ignorance of the 

114 



^iU> i^et f amilp 

situation of all those who are most dear to me is, in- 
deed, a dreadful calamity. . . . 

" Present my respects to the Marechal de Noailles, 
and tell him that I have sent him some trees from Al- 
bany, but I will send him others also at various times, 
that I may feel certain of his receiving a few of them." 

Shortly after this he sends a letter by "an English 
officer," his friend General Fitzpatrick, with whom he 
had formed a strong friendship while in England. 
This was the same generous and broad-minded man 
who made that famous motion in the House of Com- 
mons on December i, 1796, to aid those unfortunate 
prisoners confined in the dungeons of Olmiitz. 

After the winter in Valley Forge the affairs of the 
patriots moved apace. The prospects were so much 
brighter that, unannounced and unexpected, one day 
young Lafayette appeared before his wife. Once 
landed in France he had flown so fast that he arrived 
before the news of his return had reached Paris. It 
was nearly two years since the boy had embarked on 
that, apparently, wild-goose chase; and it was a wiser, 
if not a sadder man who returned to the welcoming 
hearth. This took place in the spring, February, 1789, 
and many were the changes which the young marquis, 
fresh from a country where the life was so different, 
noticed in the affairs of his native land. He rejoiced 
at the evidences of republicanism, the mutterings of 
discontent which growled like the premonition of dis- 
tant thunder. Alas! when he awoke to the fact that 
his people were not of the same temperament as those 
for whom he had been fighting, that they were not yet 
prepared for a new condition of things, it was too late. 
The " deluge " had arrived. 



IIS 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE joy of Mme. de Lafayette at once again 
beholding her husband alive and well was so 
great that, in a moment, were the cares, the 
sorrows, and anxieties of the past two years 
almost forgotten. In his sympathetic ear she poured 
the pent-up confidences of hope, of loneliness, and re- 
newed those little discussions of daily life which had 
been so long interrupted. Then, and not before, did 
her mother tell her of the rumour which had been at 
one time current, of the death of M. de Lafayette. 

" I need not say what were my mother's feelings on 
hearing such intelligence," Mme. de Lafayette wrote 
later. " She succeeded in keeping from me the report 
of his death which was spread about at that time, and 
to prevent false news from reaching my ear she first 
took me to her father's place in Bourgogne, and then 
sent my sister and me on a visit to the Comtesse Au- 
guste de la Marck at Raismes. 

" During the winter of 1778, my mother turned all 
her efforts to obtaining intelligence from America. We 
heard occasionally from M. de Lafayette. The Alli- 
ance between France and the United States caused my 
mother great satisfaction; I had never seen her take 
such an interest in any political event. In the spring, 
my sister having to go to Bordeaux on a visit to her 
husband's relations, my mother wished me to accom- 
pany her, hoping the change of scene might prove a 
diversion for me. She took charge of Anastasie, whom 
I left behind, and this was the first time she was ever 
separated from her daughters." 

116 



a^aHame tie IB^afapette ant> i^er f amtlp 

Among the rejoicings indulged in by the family, on 
the return of the prodigal, there was at all times that 
undercurrent of sorrow which made the gaiety a sort 
of froth, under which lay the bitter dregs, sooner or 
later to be reached. This was caused by the intention 
of Lafayette to return to America, where he considered 
his services of moment to the cause. Not satisfied with 
his efforts of the past years, after the first few days 
with his family, he continued to rush from place to 
place, attending to the affairs of his American friends. 
His wife says of him: 

"Owing to the war, which still lasted, several ex- 
peditions were sent out that same year. M. de Noailles 
(her brother-in-law) was ordered to the West Indies 
with his regiment. His wife was in despair at this 
separation; my mother shared in her daughter's feel- 
ings with her usual tenderness, and helped her support 
her trials with the aid of religious consolations. A 
projected descent on England, in which my father and 
M. de Lafayette were to take part, a severe and rather 
long illness I had about this time, were for my mother 
fresh subjects of anxiety. 

" In the course of the following winter, 1779, M. 
du Roure was mentioned to my parents for their third 
daughter. This proposal entered into my mother's 
views. M. du Roure's person was pleasing, he had 
been brought up with every possible care by a devoted 
mother, whom he had never left, and whom he loved 
and venerated." Unfortunately, this marriage was 
not a happy one. Whether the young man had been 
too carefully brought up, or his wife — possibly in dis- 
position somewhat like her mother — possessed those 
idiosyncrasies which had not made the union of the Due 
and Duchesse d'Ayen in every respect congenial, is a 
matter of conjecture. Adrienne writes, not so very long 
after the marriage : 

" M. du Roure's complete indifference for his wife, 
and my sister's weak state of health were causes of 

117 



i^atsame ht Hafapette 

great disappointment to my mother. She did her best 
to bring about her daughter's happiness, exhorting her 
to please her husband, and exerting herself to make the 
house agreeable to M. du Roure; but all was useless." 
The conclusion of this unhappy marriage was not long 
in coming. Soon after the surrender of Cornwallis had 
been effected, and the family again rejoiced at the return 
of Lafayette — " our brother-in-law du Roure was 
taken ill with the smallpox, and died after a few days' 
suffering. Although his extreme coldness for his wife 
was a cause of grief to us all, it was impossible not to 
be attached to a young man who possessed so many 
amiable qualities, and not to sympathise with a mother 
who had lost so tender and affectionate a son. My 
poor little sister's grief was true and sincere as herself. 
Her health having been much shaken by this sudden 
blow, my father and mother brought her home to live 
under their roof." This was the only unhappy mar- 
riage among the daughters or the intimate relatives of 
Mme. d'Ayen — a remarkable fact in so large a family. 
On December 23, 1779, the long-looked-for heir 
was born; this was the one thing necessary to complete 
the happiness of all the family. The boy was chris- 
tened George Washington Lafayette, in compliment to 
that celebrated man, and, ill though she was, the event 
compensated for all the sufferings of the past two years. 
The grief at parting from her husband, who shortly 
after this returned to America, almost prostrated her. 
In addition to the many sorrows of the last separation, 
and his long absence, she had learned to love him to 
distraction, and the pleasure and happiness afforded 
her in his companionship during the previous year, 
and the uncertainty of ever seeing him again, caused 
her the most exquisite anguish. She was at this mo- 
ment but twenty, and the accounts of the Virginia 
campaign, through the medium of the English news- 
papers, represented the cause of the patriots as a lost 
and desperate one. With the self-sacrificing sweet- 

118 



^110 ^tt f amiip 

ness of her nature, she hid her anxieties from her 
mother, lest her grief should add to the sorrows 
of the duchesse, whose heart was wrapped in the 
fate of her son-in-law. In addition to M. de La- 
fayette being in America, M. de Noailles, the hus- 
band of Louise, had lately, in company with Rocham- 
beau, set sail for those shores, so it is easy to picture the 
absorbing interest with which news from the seat of war 
was awaited. An added sorrow was the death of 
Adrien, the son of Louise de Noailles, one of the dearly 
loved grandchildren. The death of her stepmother, 
Mme. de Fresnes, came as keen bereavement to gentle 
Mme. d'Ayen, and, in company with Louise, who per- 
haps of all her daughters was the one most resembling 
her, they found comfort in their devotions and prayers 
for those who had left this world. But they put grief 
for the dead aside, for George Lafayette was suddenly 
stricken with a dangerous illness, and it was only after 
weary and sleepless nights spent in earnest prayer that 
the crisis was passed, the child pronounced out of dan- 
ger. Adrienne confesses, " that I blushed at feeling 
how much my faith was inferior to hers." Poor soul ! 
she had little to reproach herself with in anything. Of 
her feelings at this moment she says: 

" My child recovered, and cruel anxieties on his 
father's account succeeded to those I had suffered on 
his. During the campaign of Virginia, M. de La- 
fayette was unable to correspond with us, and the news- 
papers described the situation as almost desperate. I 
succeeded in keeping the most alarming circumstances 
from my mother's knowledge, as she had, in 1777, kept 
her fears from me. But I could only spare her part of 
my anxieties." . . . 

Suddenly, most unexpectedly, on January 21, 1782, 
Lafayette arrived in Paris, bringing news of the bril- 
liant conclusion of the campaign. Those who were 
living tell of the "enthusiasm excited by M. de La- 
fayette's arrival." It was shared by the queen herself. 

119 



sr^aUame tie Slafapette 

The news of the conqueror of Cornwallis arrived in the 
midst of a grand fete which was being celebrated at 
the Hotel de Ville, in honour of the dauphin's birth. 
" Mme. de Lafayette, who was present, received a very- 
remarkable proof of royal favour. The queen herself 
drove her back in her own carriage to the Hotel de 
Noailles, where M. de Lafayette had just arrived." 

The affable Marie Antoinette, whose love of sim- 
plicity was her bane, cut short the respectfully worded 
sentences of thanks for the honour which had been con- 
ferred on Mme. de Lafayette. She was young, she had 
suffered too much from the coldness and indifference 
of her husband, not to appreciate the feelings of the 
young woman whose gallant lord awaited her. Already 
the loungers had begun to gather in the rue Saint 
Honore, attracted by the unusual spectacle of the 
queen's carriage, ere the massive gates of the courtyard 
swung to hiding it from sight. With a last word of 
congratulation to the wife of the fortunate general, 
Marie Antoinette drove away. Almost beside herself, 
stumbling over the ceremonious dress she wore, Adrl- 
enne flew up the steps between stiff rows of lackeys, 
and a moment later was folded tightly in those arms 
whose circle made her world. 

What joy it was to one of her nature to feel at last 
that her husband was regarded and esteemed by the 
world as she and those near her had always appre- 
ciated him. To see the laurels of victory on his brow, 
and to know that all her hopes and prayers had been 
rewarded. Then, and only then, did she realise how 
fearfully strained and overwrought were her nerves. 

*' The joy of seeing him again, and the fascination 
of his presence were intensely felt by my mother," her 
daughter tells us. " So overpowering were her feel- 
ings that for several months she felt ready to faint 
every time he left the room. She was alarmed at the 
vehemence of her passion, fearing that she could not 
always conceal it from my father, and that it might 

I20 



^nti 1$tt f amilp 

become annoying to him, and she therefore endeavoured 
to restrain it for his sake only." 

The pleasure which Lafayette, on his side, found in 
being once more in the society of his " dearest Adri- 
enne," was greatly alloyed by the apprehensions felt by 
those around her on account of her terrible state of 
health. For the months following the return of her 
husband she was in a very grave condition, and after 
seven months of great suffering, her last child, Marie 
Antoinette Virginie, named for the queen, and in mem- 
ory of the Virginia campaign, was born. Though the 
child was at first delicate, from the circumstances pre- 
ceding its birth, it throve apace, and from this time 
the mother seemed to rally, and daily gained strength 
as she rested in the shade of their beautiful garden, or 
from her window watched the ever-changing aspect of 
river and royal palace beyond. Little by little she 
rallied, and in the exciting events which followed for- 
got self, becoming reanimated by that strong, ever- 
present desire to be of aid to her husband in his num- 
berless undertakings. Once more her feminine interest 
was aroused by the wedding of her sister Rosalie, who 
was married to M. de Montagu in the choir of Saint 
Roch, nearly opposite the Hotel de Noallles, and at- 
tended by all the members of the various clans. 

Shortly after this event, the Lafayettes, who had 
lived at the Hotel de Noallles, according to agree- 
ment, since their marriage, bought a fine hotel in the 
rue de Bourbon — now rue de Lille — almost at the 
corner of the rue de Bourgogne. This house, to be 
later the scene of great hospitality, cost the sum of 
200,000 livres, with another 50,000 llvres for Improve- 
ments, and 50,000 more for furnishings, now, alas! 
gone the way of so many fine old places, swept by the 
restless march of alteration into the Boulevard Saint- 
Germain. From its windows could be seen the treetops 
of her childhood's home, and each day, no matter what 
or how important the engagements, the devoted Adrl- 

121 



^[^aiiame tie Hafapette 

enne went to see her mother, from whom for the first 
time since her birth she was separated. The young 
people found the pleasures of their own fireside fully 
equal to those fond anticipations expressed by the mar- 
quis in his letters during the first exile in America. 
This change of dwelling was made soon after his final 
return. 

In the spring of 1783 the death of Lafayette's aunt, 
Marguerite Madelaine, brought the young couple to 
Auvergne; the memories of this aunt, so closely inter- 
woven with Lafayette's boyhood, added a sentimental 
desire to the necessity of making the journey. It was 
the first time his wife had seen the home of his people ; 
and here she met another aunt, Mme. la Comtesse de 
Chavinac, who later in her life was to be so devoted 
to her. Added to this party were Mme. du Roure and 
Mme. d'Ayen, though the latter had hardly arrived at 
rugged Chavinac, much less rested from the fatigues 
of the onerous journey, than she was summoned home 
by the death of her father, M. d'Agusseau, who had 
been ailing for some time, finally being gathered to his 
ancestors at the ripe old age of eighty-two. As soon 
as the poignancy of grief had exhausted itself, Adri- 
enne persuaded her mother to rejoin them at Chavinac, 
which she did, while there forming a strong friendship 
with Mme. de Chavinac, a remarkable woman, who 
sympathised not with the political views of her nephew 
— thought the king inviolate from comment, considered 
the father of Lafayette, who had fallen at Minden, 
and of whom she treasured a large portrait, in the light 
of a departed saint, managed the household with praise- 
worthy energy, and was proud of the fact that she had 
never left Chavinac in her life! To the young La- 
fayettes she was a sort of combination fairy godmother 
and just Nemesis, though it must be owned that the 
former character prevailed over, and sometimes extin- 
guished, the latter. They became devoted to her, im- 
peding her footsteps with their childish willingness to 

122 



help the august lady when she was bent on one of her 
many errands of mercy to those dependent upon her 
bounty. She had been a widow many years, having 
married her cousin, one of the many branches of the 
family. On the principle of extremes meeting, Rosalie, 
" who at times was inclined to be headstrong and ob- 
stinate," became devotedly attached to Mme. de Chavi- 
nac, lamenting much when she was finally obliged to 
return to Paris with her relatives at the conclusion of 
the visit. 

So they entombed themselves in the cumbersome 
coaches of the day and generation, and amid good 
wishes and fond farewells started on the road to Paris. 
Once there, Adrienne had to face another parting with 
her husband, who sailed for America to fulfil some en- 
gagements made before leaving the last time. Again 
the ocean separated them. 

About this time Rosalie, " the headstrong," was 
married to the Comte de Grammont; and then, at the 
earnest wish of her mother, " that attractive young 
widow," Mme. du Roure, listened to the proposals of 
M. de Thesan, with whom she was as happy as she had 
been miserable in her former wedded life. During the 
absence of his father the education of young George 
occupied the attention of his mother, to the exclusion of 
other affairs. She wanted the boy to prove to his 
father that the paternal judgment had not been at fault 
when he placed the instruction of the child solely in his 
mother's hands, dependent on her judgment alone. 
Though the condition of society was not marked by 
any true or real piety — indeed, so strongly rooted had 
the doctrines of the philosophers become that to those 
watching it seemed that the crash could not be far 
away — Adrienne, as did her mother before her, strove 
earnestly, untiringly, that her boy should be a true 
Christian and make himself worthy of the name he 
bore. That he should cherish the principles of honour 
and Christianity before those of worldly gain and am- 

123 



a^atiame tie Eafapette 

bition, was the mission of M. Frestel to instil into that 
youthful mind, and from future events it was clearly 
proved that this worthy man practiced to the fullest 
detail what he preached. Fearing that the constant 
going and coming of visitors, the excitement and stir 
of the many duties incident to his father's prominent 
position might disturb and have a bad effect on one 
whose mind was just forming, his mother engaged a 
small lodging in the rue St. Jacques, near by, where 
he lived for some time with his tutor, and where his 
mother constantly visited him. 

That the much-mooted question of slavery should 
have occupied the just and benevolent mind of Mme. 
de Lafayette is not strange. Her husband had long 
been one of the active members of the society, les amis 
du noir, which, by its prematurely applied doctrines 
did so much harm to those who had not yet reached the 
point where they could distinguish the difference between 
liberty and license. It was the wish of the members 
of this famous coterie to make the black capable of 
working his own salvation ; but the mental development 
of the aforesaid black had not, at that moment, at- 
tained the degree of intelligence to make this Utopian 
plan practicable. It was the burning question of the 
day. Lafayette and Larochefoucauld were at the head 
of the movement. Lafayette was encouraged by the 
Minister of Marine, M. de Castries, who directed M. 
Lescaliers, the Intendant of Cayenne, a " man of skill, 
probity, and experience," to try upon the king's negroes 
the scheme for a new system. Lafayette had at first 
expended 120,000 livres upon the purchase of his plan- 
tation La Belle Gabrielle, at Cayenne, on the northeast 
coast of South America, its management being con- 
fided to a kindred thinker and philosopher, M. de Rich- 
prey. It was an Arcadian experiment. The details 
of the venture were the sole care of Mme. de La- 
fayette. With its management she was familiar, of 
each expenditure she kept a careful account, and had 

124 



^nti i$tt ifamilp 

carte blanche from her husband, who was too much 
occupied with the troubled politics in France to have 
much time left for other matters. 

What an opportunity for one of her devout mind 
and unworldly disposition! She entered the experi- 
ment with that intensity which earned for her the name 
of the " Ardent Adrienne," without, however, having 
given any time or study to the real disposition and nature 
of the black races. From her stand-point it was impera- 
tive that before all else the negroes on the plantation 
should be thoroughly taught the elements of religion 
and morality, thus preparing them for and making 
them worthy of the liberty which one day should be 
theirs. It was her hope to achieve their improvement 
by this measure, afterward to prove triumphantly to 
the free thinkers of the day that it was through divine 
intercession that all this had been accomplished. She 
cultivated the friendship of the priests of the Semi- 
nalre du Saint Esprit, worthy men who had a mission- 
ary establishment at Cayenne. With the Abbe Far j on, 
the cure in charge, she corresponded continuously. 
Were the letters in existence, what an interesting tale 
of hopes, plans, and unknown details their reading 
would furnish! But, alas! all these dreams were 
abruptly ended by the Revolution ; ^e plantation and its 
inhabitants scattered before a devastating storm of fire 
and terror, with only the mitigating circumstance that 
the negroes of La Belle Gabrielle did not commit any 
of those awful atrocities which occurred at adjoining 
plantations, and particularly In the Island of San Do- 
mingo. All the property of Lafayette was seized by 
the revolutionists, and the slaves sold, scattered to the 
corners of the earth. So ended the well-meant attempt 
to benefit his fellow-men. 

The Civil Constitution of the Clergy, then upper- 
most In every mind, was a subject of great tribulation 
to one so faithful and pious as Mme. de Lafayette. 
Religious and devout she was before all else, but, like 

125 



^^abame tie Hafapette 

Mme. d'Ayen, utterly without the sHghtest tinge of big- 
otry, and it grieved her to see daily, hourly acts per- 
petrated in the name of religion; acts which by their 
intolerance served to disgust those reasonable and just 
minds, and to offer to the ever growing class of scoffers 
the subjects needed for their grievances. She was 
broad-minded enough to allow to each and every one 
a place in heaven, though their belief was not hers. She 
warmly aided and abetted her husband in his efforts to 
secure for the Protestants those civil rights which the 
intrigues of the Maintenon and the Jesuits had taken 
from them on March 23, 1685, just one hundred and 
two years before, by the revocation of the Edict of 
Nantes. Lafayette passed some time at Nimes, to bet- 
ter acquaint himself with the merits of the cause he 
was championing, then made the motion which was 
triumphantly carried in his favour in the Assembly. 

As the Revolution grew apace, religious matters 
caused her much uneasiness. The vast upheaval, the 
overthrow of the routine of centuries, can hardly be 
comprehended. Her house was ever the refuge for the 
unfortunate religieuse. Priests who had refused to take 
the oath of the constitution, nuns who had been in- 
sulted — all homeless and driven before the winds of 
atheism blowing fiercely over the country at this mo- 
ment. The love which she felt for her husband made 
her accept his acts without criticism, and she received 
gladly and courteously with deep sympathy the promi- 
nent clergymen whom Lafayette's championship of the 
Protestant cause brought to their house. Before every- 
thing, Adrienne de Noailles possessed the courage of 
her convictions, with perhaps some of the inherited 
stubbornness of the celebrated cardinal, her ancestor. 
Situated as she was, she considered it was " her duty 
to testify her attachment to the Catholic cause. She 
was, therefore, present when the cure of St. Sulpice, 
whose parishioner she was, refused from the pulpit to 
take the oath." Nor did she allow to pass a single 

126 



9Lnh 1$n f amilp 

©pportunity to establish cordial relations with any of 
those who might eventually be of service in re-estab- 
lishing the former condition of affairs, particularly such 
things as would be of benefit to her ecclesiastical pro- 
teges, now destitute and homeless. She was a curious 
example of everyday common sense and child-like faith 
in the efficacy of prayer, combined with political sa- 
gacity and great domesticity of character. Somewhat 
complex to be understood, much less appreciated by the 
average person. She was, indeed, absolutely, wholly, 
feminine ! 



127 



CHAPTER IX 

THE Revolution, gradually gaining impetus be- 
fore devastating the country, was assuming 
proportions no longer to be ignored. After 
the famous fourteenth of July (1789) and 
the fall of the Bastille, M, de Lafayette was elected 
commander-in-chief of the national guards. Though 
he professed republican principles and theories as to the 
equality of mankind, Lafayette in no way countenanced 
or sympathised with the extreme ideas and actions of 
many of those surrounding him, and some time later 
resigned his command, disgusted and sickened at the 
lack of self-control which led his associates to make 
inhuman beasts of themselves. 

Again, Mme. de Lafayette was placed in the situa- 
tion which destiny seemed to take peculiar delight in 
choosing for her : a position between love and old asso- 
ciation. Though she believed in and upheld her hus- 
band's actions heart and soul, she came of a family noted 
for its devotion to the old regime ; who had always been 
friends of their sovereigns, holding positions of the 
greatest trust and confidence near the royal person. 
Her father was captain of the garde du corps, and It 
was only the pronounced Ideas of her husband which 
had kept him from the court, as he preferred the com- 
parative liberty of the army. Seeing him at the head 
of the republicans, often sacrificing his popularity to 
oppose an unjust or disorderly act, as later he risked 
much to save his king and queen, she admired and loved 
him, and approved of all his actions, " though never 
did she see him leave the house during that period 

128 



!3l^atiame tie Eafapette anti i^cr f amiip 

without thinking that she was bidding him adieu for 
the last time." Those were days when reason and re- 
flection played no part; the very name of law was for- 
gotten in the land. 

At this period of her life, as in all other tribula- 
tions, Adrienne's faith enabled her to believe that what 
was was for the best. It was the will of Heaven. The 
tenderness of Mme. d'Ayen meant much to her daugh- 
ter, though the opinions of the former were those of 
a lifetime, of her friends, of her ancestors; the nobil- 
ity and justice of her character enabled her to appre- 
ciate the motives of her son-in-law, as she had ever 
loved and understood him from the first, though La- 
fayette's ideas were not her own. From the prominent 
public position of her husband Mme. de Lafayette was 
obliged to keep open house. Lafayette was the idol 
of the day. To such an extent did the cult of patriot- 
ism rise that it influenced the dress of the women! 
What more can one ask? It was the women who tore 
the jewels from their fingers and poured forth a pre- 
cious stream for le dom patriotique; who seized the 
opportunity to display their Diana-like forms beneath 
sheer, tantalising chifons; who exposed themselves for 
their country's sake as no Spartan dame, with all her 
vaunted courage, ere had done. It was an epoch when 
the old and ugly had no place in the ranks of these 
excited and lovely Amazons. It was a day when mod- 
esty hid her head abashed. 

One enthusiast, Mme. Brulart, perhaps outdis- 
tanced her patriotic sisters in the novelty she evolved. 
This lady constantly wore at her breast a " medallion 
made of a stone of the Bastille, polished. In the middle 
of the medallion Liherte was written in diamonds; 
above was marked in diamonds the planet that shone 
on the fourteenth of July, and below was seen the 
moon of the size she appeared that memorable night. 
The medallion was set in a branch of laurel, composed 
of emeralds, and tied at the top with the national col- 

129 



iSr^atiame tie %afaptttt 

ours." It would be amusing to know the size and 
weight of this novel bijou. 

Popular enthusiasm reached the limit of its frenzy 
at that gigantic fete, the celebration of the Federation, 
on July 14, 1790, one year after the demolition of the 
Bastille, which, by the way, has always been a much 
exaggerated and romantically overrated piece of war- 
fare. Through the ill-placed economy of M. de Lau- 
nay, the governor, who had a passion for gold, the 
place was only defended by half, or less than half, the 
necessary guards. On the morning of the fourteenth 
the amount of his troops was but fourscore invalides 
and thirty-two Suisse. To this was opposed a city full 
of fierce, irrepressible, hungry spirits, goaded on by the 
knowledge that there was in Paris only enough pro- 
visions for twenty-four hours, and then starvation for 
them and their families. The Bastille was erroneously 
supposed to be well stored with enough food to stand 
a siege. In reality there were two sacks of flour and 
a little rice ! The sole supply of water came from with- 
out, and might be cut off at any moment. De Launay 
certainly lacked that strategical brain which makes the 
successful general. The details of this assault are too 
commonly known to need repetition, but the knowledge 
is less universal that, in this hated prison, which time 
had surrounded with horror and mystery, at the time 
of its fall there were only seven prisoners! This fact 
is sufficient to account for the small guard maintained 
by M. de Launay, whose income was greatly dimin- 
ished by the ill-filled dungeons over which he pre- 
sided. 

There is also little doubt that the general student 
pictures a vast concourse of spectres, led by the Man 
in the Iron Mask, phantoms clanking heavy fetters, 
victims of the puissant Pompadour, whose favourite 
lettres de cachet kept the gloomy castle well filled in 
her day. A groaning, lacerated mass, bleeding from 
the torments practised on them, surging, staggering 

130 



^iU> ^tt f amilp 

forth as the sullen doors creaked open, blinking stu- 
pidly at the unaccustomed light. There is no prison so 
world-widely notorious as the Bastille. Disappointing 
is it then to romance to show that the mob rushed 
through every corner and nook, broke into the council 
chamber, burned and destroyed a great part of the 
records of that inhuman chateau, which would have 
been of great interest to the student of history. They 
plunged into the dungeons, chill and dark as death, 
forced wide each door opposing their onrush, and 
found — seven miserable men! One of these unfor- 
tunate creatures, who had been confined for thirty-five 
years underground, staggered and would have fallen 
but for the bystanders, so unused were his eyes to the 
light of day. Tears poured down his cheeks. He 
begged the mob in faint tones : '' Messieurs, vous m'avez 
rendu tin grand service, rendez-m' en un autre; tuez- 
moif Je ne sais oii aller! " 

" Allons, allons!" the crowd cried as with one 
voice. "La nation te nourriral " and the poor old 
gray-beard was promptly hustled away to be cared for 
by those who had restored his liberty. 

Some instruments of torture were discovered by the 
mob. An iron frame " contrived to contain every joint 
of a man, and hold him forever immovable." Several 
machines, equally ingenious, were found, but as no one 
could even surmise how or for what sort of torture 
they had been used, it would appear that this polite 
art had fallen somewhat in abeyance of late. Strange 
sequence of " ifs ! " If Louis XVI, good-hearted and 
stupid, had been of a more cruel nature, he would prob- 
ably have kept the Bastille well filled. If the Bastille 
had been well filled with prisoners, the pockets of M. de 
Launay would have had a golden jingle satisfying to 
that economical noble. Such being the case, the garrison 
would not have been depleted to save expense, would 
have been able to resist the attack of the ill-organised 
mob, the Bastille would not have fallen, and voila I the 

131 



iSl^atiame tie llafapette 

whole history of the Revolution would have been writ- 
ten differently! 

To return to the fete of the Federation. The rati- 
fication of the newly accepted constitution was, some 
thought, a final seal on the prosperity of France; that 
nothing now could go wrong ; that a millennium was at 
hand, and so on. Unfortunately for this pleasant pro- 
gramme, there were political parties in la belle France 
of many and diverse opinions; it was impossible to 
please each, and so these Utopian prospects gradually 
faded into the mists of unreality. To-day, though, the 
nation was en fete. There were pavilions, triumphal 
arches, altars from which the fragrant incense ascended 
to heaven. Two hundred thousand men marched in a 
grand procession ; half a million more watched the gor- 
geous mummery. The description of an eye-witness 
gives us the following : 

" The Champs de Mars was formed into an Im- 
mense amphitheatre, around which were erected forty 
rows of seats, raised one above the other with earth, 
on which wooden forms were placed. Twenty days' 
labour, animated by the enthusiasm of the people, ac- 
complished what seemed to require the toil of years. 
Already in the Champs de Mars the distinctions of 
rank were forgotten, and. Inspired by the same spirit, 
the highest and the lowest orders of citizens gloried in 
taking up the spade and assisting the persons employed 
In a work on which the common welfare of the state 
depended. Ladles took the Instruments of labour in 
their hands to remove a little of the earth, that they 
might be able to boast that they also had assisted in 
the preparations In the Champs de Mars, and a number 
of old soldiers were seen voluntarily bestowing on their 
country at large the last remains of their strength. A 
young abbe of my acquaintance told me that the people 
had beat a drum at the door of the convent where he 
lived, and obliged the superior to allow all the monks 
to come out and work In the Champs de Mars] The 

132 



^nti i$tt f amilp 

superior with great reluctance acquiesced. ' Quant a 
moi/ said the young abbe, ' je ne demande pas 
mieux.' At the upper end of the amphitheatre a pavihon 
was built for the reception of the King, the Queen, their 
attendants, and the National Assembly, covered with 
striped tent cloth of the National colours and decorated 
with streamers of the same beloved tints, and fleurs de 
lys. The whole flag was displayed above the spot 
where the King was seated. In the middle of the 
Champs de Mars, VAutel de la Patrie was placed, on 
which incense was burned by priests dressed in long 
white robes with sashes of National ribbons. Several 
inscriptions were written on the altar, but the words 
visible at the greatest distance were : ' Le Nation, la 
Loi, le Roil' At the opposite and lower end of the 
amphitheatre were three triumphal arches, adorned with 
allegorical figures. The Gargantuan procession, com- 
posed of bands, grenadiers. Representatives, Deputies, 
the National Guard of Paris, the sacred Oriflamme, 
once the banner of the Kings of France "(proud old 
standard! how ill at ease you must have felt in such a 
mongrel company!), "battalions of children carrying 
standards with the words ' L'Esperance de la Patrie,^ 
squads from the Navy," and the usual miscellaneous 
rag-tag, and bobtail which goes to form a great parade. 
" The procession, which was formed with eight per- 
sons abreast, entered the Champs de Mars beneath the 
triumphal arches with a discharge of cannon. The 
deputies placed themselves round the inside of the am- 
phitheatre. Between them and the spectators the Na- 
tional Guards of Paris were ranged, and the seats were 
filled with four hundred thousand people. The middle 
of the amphitheatre was crowded with an immense 
multitude of soldiers. The National Assembly walked 
toward the pavilions, where they placed themselves 
with the King, the Queen, the Royal family, and their 
attendants, and opposite this group rose in perspective 
the hills of Passy and Chaillot, covered with people. 

133 



i^aiiame ht Hafapette 

The standards, of which one was presented to each 
department of the Kingdom, as a mark of brotherhood 
by the citizens of Paris, were carried to the altar to 
be consecrated by the Bishop. High Mass was per- 
formed, after which M. de Lafayette, who had been 
appointed by the King Major-General of the Federa- 
tion, ascended the altar, gave the signal, and himself 
took the National oath. In an instant every sword 
was drawn and every arm lifted up. The King pro- 
nounced the oath which the President of the National 
Assembly repeated; the solemn words were re-echoed 
by six hundred thousand voices, while the Queen raised 
the Dauphin in her arms, showing him to the people 
and the Army, at the same time the consecrated ban- 
ners were displayed, the sun, which had been obscured 
by frequent showers in the course of the morning, burst 
forth, while the people lifted their eyes to heaven and 
called upon the Deity to look down and witness the 
sacred engagement into which they entered. A respect- 
ful silence was succeeded by the cries, the shouts, the 
acclamations of the multitude ; they wept, they embraced 
each other, and then dispersed." 

At that moment France gave herself to an excess 
of national ecstasy. The most absurd behaviour pre- 
vailed. Fancy the National Guard, while awaiting the 
arrival of that solemn procession, amusing the spec- 
tators by dancing in circles, cheered on and encouraged 
by half a million people, to whom there was nothing 
uncouth in ten thousand guards of the nation leaping 
madly, yelling, and performing monkey-like antics of 
which a silly schoolboy would have been ashamed ; and 
this prior to the most impressive event which France had 
witnessed — an event which meant the loss of ancient 
privileges to an unfortunate king, and was the begin- 
ning of the end. . . . Could such a scene have been 
enacted anywhere but in la belle France? 

The order prevailing on that day of carnival was 
superb. All carriages were forbidden for the twenty- 

134 



^nU i^er f amilp 

four hours, and so numerous were the entrances to the 
Champs de Mars that there was not the slightest crush 
or accident anywhere. The people grumbled that the 
king had not taken the national oath at the foot of the 
altar, where they could have seen him (oh, poor king! 
how little his sacrifice was appreciated!) instead of in 
the pavilion. Some of them crowded around M. de 
Lafayette and tried to make him promise to persuade 
the king to take the oath a second time ! 

" Mes enfants," he said, " le serment n'est pas une 
ariette, on ne pent pas le jouer deux fois " ; and one is 
forced to wonder if, after all, people who had so little 
comprehension as this were worth all the noble blood 
shed in France? 

On dismounting from his horse at the Chateau de 
la Muette on his way to attend a dinner, given for the 
National Guard some hours later, Lafayette was nearly 
smothered by the embraces of the people. He called 
out, ^'^ Mais, mes amis, vous m'etoufflezl^^ and was 
only saved from suffocation by the prompt action of 
his aide, who made him mount his own horse and ride 
into the courtyard. This occurrence is supposed by 
some to have been a plot to assassinate the " Idol of 
the Nation " (pro temf). That night the city was a 
blaze of light. The next, the ci-devant Due d'Orleans 
gave a dinner to the public at the Palais Royale, where 
he and his friends watched the antics of the people 
from above. A succession of spectacles filled the fol- 
lowing days. On the following Sunday Lafayette re- 
viewed the National Guard in the Champs de Mars. 
The people waxed more and more enthusiastic. As on 
the day of the preceding fete, carriages were forbid- 
den, and the whole city was illuminated, including the 
gardens of the Tuileries, the facade of the Louvre 
" being lighted in a most splendid manner. " The 
Champs Elysees resembled fairy land, well justifying 
its classical appellation ; a myriad of lights twinkled and 
shone amid the luxuriant trees, mingling with the moon- 

135 



0^atiame ht %afaptttt anti ^et familp 

light of the summer eve, forming an ensemble never to 
be forgotten. The crowd surged and shouted and 
sang; laughed and knew no restraint. Parties of the 
National Guard rioted through the streets, a woman 
between every two men, and each time they chanced to 
meet a priest, laughingly compelled him to join in the 
gaiety, treating him as a woman by placing him between 
two soldiers, and sometimes sportively dressing him in 
their grenadier caps! 

There were fireworks and transparencies of the 
popular heroes of the moment, Lafayette being promi- 
nent among them. His, and one of M. Bailly, were 
" placed as the highest mark of favour on either side 
of the celebrated statue of Henri IV, which graced the 
pont Neuf." The remains of the abhorred Bastille 
were converted into " a scene of beauty and pleasure, 
the ground being covered with fresh clods of grass," 
trees had been planted in rows and ornamented with a 
blaze of light; and loud above all, noisy and hysterical, 
the cry of " Vive la nation ! " 

What were the feelings of the daughter of the 
Hapsburgs, looking from a darkened window of the 
palace at the wild turmoil of that night? 



136 



CHAPTER X 

PLACED in a position where the glare of pub- 
licity poured without cessation, constantly open 
to criticism and comment, Mme. de Lafayette 
was little annoyed by either. Taking no sides 
in the affairs of the moment, she, uninfluenced by friend 
or foe, held to those opinions which in her eyes were 
the just and proper course. She showed marvellous 
tact in the entertainment of the many guests, never 
offering her opinion on subjects in which her views 
might not be theirs, but never deviating from the course 
which she had taken. " What she suffered in her heart 
of hearts can only be understood by those who have 
heard her talk of the times." She received, among the 
many. Constitutional clergymen, " never concealing 
her opinions or love for the cause of the former 
Bishops." Though never offending or argumentative, 
she always expressed her opinions and views for which 
she had the courage of her convictions. Only once 
did she depart from the rule which she had laid down 
for herself, that of receiving all sorts of people equally 
well; it was the day when the Bishop of Paris, who had 
taken the oath, after his instalment came to dine at her 
husband's house; he did not, like his colleagues, come 
as a private individual, and she declined receiving 
him as bishop of the diocese. Accordingly, she " dined 
out that day, although her doing so was much re- 
marked." 

That distinguished patriot, Gouvemeur Morris, who 
was in Paris at this time, was a constant visitor at the 
home of the Lafayettes', and in his memoirs speaks 

137 



Madame iie Eafapette 

of Mme. de Lafayette, who, on one occasion, accord- 
ing to his ideas, was somewhat cool in her manner. 
This was only a passing fancy, for at another time he 
mentions that she had one of the httle girls come and 
dance for him. He proved a wonderfully good friend 
to that family when it was overtaken by such dire mis- 
fortunes, and it was on his money that they had to de- 
pend for the absolute necessities of life. His descrip- 
tion of his friend Lafayette is too good a picture of 
the life led by that young patriot to be omitted: 

" Lafayette was an extremely busy man. He was 
occupied in receiving people of all parties at all hours." 
He was " still the impetuous patriot " and, one is in- 
clined to think, rather stubborn and headstrong in the 
matter of receiving advice or suggestion from those in- 
terested in his welfare. 

" I tell him," writes Morris, " that an American 
constitution will not do for this country, and that two 
such chambers " (Senate and Representatives) " would 
not answer where there is a hereditary executive. That 
every country must have a constitution suited to its cir- 
cumstances, and the state of France requires a higher 
toned government than that of America." 

After this interview there is a hint in Morris's jour- 
nal that Lafayette was somewhat cool toward his old 
friend, proving the adage that there are " three things 
better to give than to receive — medicine, kicks, and ad- 
vice." Despite these slight differences, the friendship 
continued, and Morris says that at court " Lafayette 
spoke to me in terms of ancient familiarity," and he 
went frequently to his house, where, Morris complains, 
on one occasion that " Lafayette was late to dinner, and 
so busy he could scarcely remain a moment after- 
ward." He therefore saw a good deal of his hostess, 
who was often glad to talk to a stranger outside and 
beyond the influences and self-interests of the political 
parties of the moment. 

In the midst of these thrilling and dramatic happen- 

138 



^nti i^er f amiip 

Ings, like a breath, a reflection from quiet Mount Ver- 
non is the letter of General Washington, who writes on 
June 8, 1786, telling Lafayette that " Mrs. Washing- 
ton had sent a barrel of hams to Mme. de Lafayette," 
and that " he does not know if they are better, or even 
as good, as those of France, but that they are of their 
own curing," adding, " the ladies of Virginia even con- 
sider their hams before themselves " and they " remem- 
ber Lafayette's taste for them." Knowing of old the 
luscious flavour of this dainty, as prepared in the smoke- 
houses of " Ole Virginny," Lafayette lost no time in 
having them appear on his stately table as soon as they 
arrived; writing to the donor, under date of October 
26, 1786, that " I have received the hams and acknowl- 
edge the amiable intentions of Mrs. Washington. The 
first was served three days ago at a dinner composed 
of Americans, to whom your friend Chastelleux was 
invited." What the verdict of the company was, alas ! 
history does not relate, but it was undoubtedly far from 
adverse. 

Adrienne had her place in the public career of her 
husband, then the most talked of man in France. 
Every moment was filled, and, much against her in- 
clinations, kept her from devoting as much time to her 
children as so fond a mother desired. She had them 
with her in the mornings and whenever she was able 
to snatch an hour from the cares of her busy household, 
ever the scene of lavish and constant hospitality. But, 
aside from her part in his public life, she had a great 
prominence of her own, though to her connection with 
the general she owed the reflected pohtical interest 
which, on hearing that she had fallen ill, caused the 
Assemblee des Representants, on June 8, 1786, to send 
a deputation of two members to ascertain the condi- 
tion of her health, " as it was feared she had the 
measles." Want and misery ever found in her a lis- 
tener. Generous to the poor, as her mother had taught 

139 



£)^atiame tie Eafapette 

her to be, there was never much of her ample income 
not devoted to philanthropic purposes. Luckily, at that 
time her husband possessed an immense fortune and 
income, so no hint of financial worry came to deepen 
the cares of that gentle heart. Virginie says : 

" Faith sanctified my mother's charity for the poor. 
Her activity made her useful to a great number of dis- 
tressed persons. Good works greatly occupied her time, 
and she devoted herself to them as much as her family 
duties permitted her to do. She did not believe that 
she could conscientiously spend the smallest sum for her 
own pleasure ; neither did she ever indulge in any fancy. 
She thought that whatever money is not required for 
keeping up social position, belongs to the poor, and that 
it is positively forbidden to employ it in any other man- 
ner. This principle, acknowledged in theory by all 
pious persons, but so often neglected in practice, was 
strictly adhered to by my mother." 

Among the thousand and one occupations of that 
tempestuous time, Mme. de Lafayette accepted the 
requests made to her by each of the districts of Paris — 
sixty in number — to collect subscriptions at the bless- 
ings of their banners and other patriotic ceremonies. 
It is to be regretted that there is no record of the 
amount received. With each day, each instant, matters 
rushed to a crisis. It would be impossible to give a 
detailed account of the overwhelming mass of events. 
A bare outline is all the space allows; anything else 
would be a history of the Revolution. The unfortu- 
nate, irresolute king was the pivot on which things 
turned. Wishing to leave Paris and go to St. Cloud, 
on the Monday of Passion Week, 1791, to receive the 
sacrament from a non-juring priest, he announced his 
desire. (How differently would his predecessor, the 
fourteenth Louis have commanded his loyal subjects!) 
This was the signal for an uproar, and the king did 

140 



^nti !^er f amilp 

not put his wish into execution, despite the desire of 
Lafayette, who endeavoured to make him show some | 
firmness. Angry at the indecision of his king, enraged \ 
at the action of the National Guard, which had not 
properly supported him in the presence of the people, 
and knowing that his authority would be as nothing 
in the coming storm which he could so well foresee, 
Lafayette resigned his command. On reaching home, 
the joy of his wife and her wonderful pleasure well 
supported him in the resolution he had taken. He then 
went to the country, leaving her to receive the munici- 
pality and the sixty battalions which came to beg him 
to resume his command. She replied gently and in 
judiciously chosen words to their addresses ; and, though 
gracious and diplomatic to all, " marked clearly by her 
manner the distinction she made between the worthy 
ones and the blustering low creature like Santerre, 
whose behaviour had made her husband resign." La- 
fayette's return to private life was short-lived, and his 
wife's anxieties were soon to begin anew, for, in answer 
to the general voice of persuasion, after showing his 
displeasure for four days, he again resumed the com- 
mand of that body, of which his opinion was somewhat 
uncertain, as Gouverneur Morris relates in the follow- 
ing conversation : 

" I ask him if his troops will obey him, and he says 
they will not mount guard when it rains, but thinks they 
would readily follow him into action." 

On June 21st the ineffectual flight of the royal fam- 
ily was stopped at Varennes, and they were obliged to 
return to Paris. Much blame was heaped on Lafayette 
at this time, and his position rendered exceedingly dif- 
ficult. His desire to shield the unfortunate family of 
his king from wanton insult brought on him no little 
censure. " In no other circumstance of my father's life 
did my mother so much admire him as in the one I 
am now relating," writes Virginie, in reference to that 
occasion, so, though a man Is never a hero to his valet 

141 



^[^dtidme tie Eafapette 

— or, in other words, to those who intimately surround 
him — in this instance Lafayette had the entire admira- 
tion and approval of the one to whom he always turned. 

Before the Constitution had been occepted, Mme. 
de Lafayette hastened to the reception of the queen, 
then living at the Palais des Tuileries. She was the 
only woman there connected with the Republican, Pa- 
triot, or what they chose to call themselves, party. 
Ever fond of Marie Antoinette, whom she had known 
from her girlhood, in the days of the Petit Trianon, 
Adrienne believed, as did her husband, that politics 
should have no part in personal friendship. From her 
aunt, Mme. de Mouchy, her cousins, and many rela- 
tives, the sentiments and actions of the enthusiastic 
young republican had of late greatly estranged the gen- 
tle Adrienne, to her inestimable sorrow. Her tender 
heart was often torn at the coldness of former friends, 
though never for the smallest fraction of an infinite 
second wavering in its loyalty to the being whom her 
fond eyes considered perfect. The Duchesse d'Ayen, 
a staunch believer in the ancien regime^ heart and soul 
with the royal party, and having little sympathy with 
aught but the good old conditions under which she had 
lived her life, sympathised deeply with her daughter 
in the unhappy and difficult position forced upon her 
by circumstances. With her usual broadmindedness, the 
kindly duchesse made allowance for those whom she 
was too Christian to condemn utterly, considering them 
as unfortunates, led astray by listening to evil counsel. 
Rare are those spirits so filled with true Christian char- 
ity that they are willing to admit some good, even in 
the person of their enemies ! Passionately devoted to 
her husband, loving Intensely those related to her, Ad- 
rienne's sufferings at this time were Impossible to de- 
scribe. 

Harrowing, thrilling, and narrow was the escape 
which this intrepid woman had from being murdered 
on June 17, 1791, when a sudden and violent outbreak 

142 



a^nti i^er f amilp 

was raised by the Jacobins. This party, even then, 
feared the outspoken incorruptibility of Lafayette, as 
he in turn hated them for their lawlessness and the 
brutality which they cloaked under the name of patriot- 
ism. Ever alert to injure one so popular, they began 
by murdering two men during a review on the Champs 
de Mars, at which Lafayette, by virtue of his office as 
commander-in-chief of the National Guard, was in 
command. Attempting, but happily foiled, in their de- 
sire to assassinate Lafayette, the mob dispersed as sud- 
denly as it had gathered, the " brigands " forming the 
fearful resolution of finding and murdering Mme. de 
Lafayette, and afterward carrying her head on a pike 
to meet her husband on his return from the review ! 
The home of the Lafayette family was situated not 
far from the Champs de Mars, and the news that the 
rabble were attempting to assassinate her husband came 
to Adrienne as a clap of thunder. She was in agony. 
True and heartfelt were her thanks to the Divine Being 
in whom she placed such implicit reliance, when an- 
other breathless messenger rushed in with the tidings 
that the mob was on its way to murder her, that not 
a moment must be lost in barricading the house. Vir- 
ginie says : 

" I remember the alarm of everybody in the house, 
and above all my mother's joy at the thought that the 
* brigands ' who were now coming to attack her were no 
longer surrounding my father in the Champs de Mars. 
While embracing us with tears of joy, she took every 
necessary precaution against the approaching danger, 
above all, with the greatest relief of mind. The guard 
had been doubled and was drawn up before our house, 
but the ' brigands ' were very near entering my mother's 
apartment by the gardens on the place du Palais Bour- 
bon, and were already climbing the low wall which 
protected us when a body of cavalry passed on the place 
and dispersed them." 

143 



i^atiame De %afaptttt 

When Mme. d'Ayen heard of this dreadful affair 
she reasoned seriously with Adrienne on the necessity 
of guarding herself carefully, both at home and abroad, 
begging her to take precautions to have the garden, 
by which the mob had almost succeeded in forcing an 
entrance, more carefully watched. This her daughter 
promised to do, peremptorily refusing, however, to 
listen to the suggestion that she should retire to the 
country, and remain until the crisis of affairs had 
passed. Her place was with her husband. They had 
passed through much sorrow and separation, and when 
death came she would be at his side. There was no 
shaking her determination. However, after this mat- 
ters were a little more quiet for the time being. The 
king, having accepted the Constitution, the Constitu- 
tional Assembly ended its sittings. M. de Lafayette 
for the second time resigned his command of the Na- 
tional Guard, and, accompanied by his wife and chil- 
dren, started for Auvergne about the beginning of 
October. The journey was slow and frequently inter- 
rupted, as they were obliged to stop and acknowledge 
the many marks of sympathy lavished on them. At 
one point the general was presented with a bust of 
Washington, and a sword forged from the bolts of the 
Bastille. 

At last they arrived at Chavinac, where they were 
warmly welcomed by Lafayette's aunt, the Comtesse 
de Chavinac, then in her seventy-second year, and 
joined later by Mme. d'Ayen and the saintly Louise, 
Mme. de Noailles. The society of her children and 
these dear ones did much to restore Mme. de Lafayette 
to her normal state of mind and health. So upset and 
excited had she been by the terrible events of the last 
few months, that she was too exhausted to do more 
than take a passive interest in the everyday life, which 
in her normal condition would have afforded her the 
greatest pleasure. It was a very considerable time be- 
fore her health had resumed its usual condition. She 

144 



aittti l^er f amtlp 

was utterly worn out. Since her marriage at that ex- 
ceedingly early age, her life had been a veritable gamut 
of emotions, and, in the majority, emotions which were 
far from happy. But Adrienne de Lafayette was one 
of those beings whom the hand of fate had marked 
for its own. She was born to endure much sorrow and 
misery. 



145 



CHAPTER XI 

THE home of the Lafayettes, Chavinac, in 
Auvergne, is in itself worthy of some de- 
scription, from the fact of its being the 
cradle of that famous family. Situated in 
the heart of a wildly picturesque and romantic coun- 
try, at the southeastern extremity of the plain of Chali- 
ergues, of which Paulhaguet is considered the capital, 
almost touching the mountains of Foix, solidly planted 
upon a rugged, rocky promontory, washed by the 
ceaseless flow of a brawling rivulet, looms Chavinac. 
Sombre trees cloak the surrounding hills, peaceful cat- 
tle browse on the slopes where of yore the impregnable 
walls rebuffed the adventurous marauding baron, who 
fain would demonstrate to his satisfaction the primitive 
laws of " meum and tiium ! " 

According to tradition the manor of Chavinac 
dates back to the fourteenth century, but owing to many 
vicissitudes and the idiosyncrasies of its architecture, it 
is difficult to speak with certainty on the subject. Al- 
most totally destroyed by fire in 1701, its original con- 
struction was replaced by that which one sees to-day. 
It entirely lacks the charm and elegance of many 
chateaux, being too heavy for actual beauty. Rebuilt 
in 1 70 1, restored in 1791 by the architect Vaudoyer, 
the chateau de Chavinac is to-day " a great parallelo- 
gram, each side of which measures twenty-three metres 
and eighteen metres in height. At the end of each 
angle stands a round, solidly built tower fifteen metres 
high and tAventy metres in circumference, terminating 
in a bell tower." The principal facade faces the north- 

146 



£r^atiame tie Hafapette anb i$et family 

west, but the chateau is so amply supphed with win- 
dows on all sides that the distinction of " front " and 
" back " lose their significance. Fortunately for the 
chateau, its picturesque environment of wood, moun- 
tain, and stream, its superb elevation and luxuriant 
background of trees save it from being reproached with 
its chief defect — that of heaviness. 

The ground floor at the present day serves merely 
for the domestic offices, kitchens, storerooms, and the 
thousand and one trifles connected with a large country 
place. On the first floor are several fine apartments, 
all with their history, their tender memories of " dear 
dead women," all now still and ghostly, awaking only 
at the chance footfall; uninhabited since the last visit 
of Lafayette in 1829 to his ancestral estate. The most 
remarkable room of this floor is a gallery thirty-nine 
feet long, which, in the good old days of yore, served 
as a dining room and the scene of many a mad revel, 
when the lords returned from the war or had success in 
the chase. Wine and wassail are gone; rollicking lilt 
rings no more to the rafters; the walls are demurely 
hung with the most chaste of pictures; busts of Wash- 
ington, Franklin, Voltaire, Brutus, Caesar, Rousseau, 
Socrates, and others of that ilk gaze vacantly down, 
giving a very good idea of the beliefs and sympathies 
of a former owner. One side of the room is lined with 
Lafayette's library, a collection relating chiefly to the 
War of American Independence and the French Revo- 
lution, more than a thousand volumes, each bearing 
the arms and proud motto of the general — '' Cur nonf " 

The grand salon is square in shape and decorated 
mostly by family portraits: The general in civil dress, 
painted by Ary Schaffer in 18 19, those of his father 
and mother, and aunt, Mme. de Chavinac, are the most 
interesting. To a little room, poorly lighted by one 
window, and situated on the first floor of the tower 
of the north fagade, tradition ascribes the birth of the 
young Lafayette who was so to upset his own country, 

147 



sr^atiame De Eafapette 

and aid in their struggle those across the seas. This 
room, with its green carpet, many souvenirs, and pic- 
tures, has no longer any of the original furniture. 
What it contains is uninterestingly modern. 

The village of Chavinac, a collection of some fifty 
cottages nestling close to the chateau, grouped around 
a modest church, and two schools, the gift of Lafa- 
yette, owed what prosperity it had to the interests of 
the various masters and mistresses of the chateau; 
without their kindly supervision the agricultural activ- 
ity waned, and a peaceful somnolence pervaded the at- 
mosphere. With his usual desire for the betterment of 
his fellow-man, the general, during his infrequent vis- 
its, busied himself by trying to improve certain con- 
ditions which had prevailed from time immemorial. It 
is to his activity that the borough owed its two annual 
fairs and the right of having a market each week. He 
constructed a house where they might learn the arts 
of spinning and weaving wool and cotton. He built a 
very necessary road — as usual, at his own expense — 
and arranged that there should be a resident physician 
ever in their midst, and for this he also paid, that the 
poor might have his services free of all expense. This 
" chirurgien docteur " was a character, known not only 
to the inhabitants of Chavinac, but to the entire coun- 
tryside. Born at Carpentras in 1756, he died at his 
adopted home, Chavinac, in 1831. jean Ange Gui- 
tandry, " with his great height, knee breeches of the 
ancien regime^ cocked hat, and hair braided into a 
club," could be remembered by some of the old people 
of the village ( 1 8 8 1 ) . Unchanged by war or peace, 
his tender care of the sick — albeit domineering — never 
yielded to partisan feeling, nor was his " picturesque 
fluency of provincial oath " ever changed or subdued 
by joy or sorrow. Brusque in his manner, he repre- 
sented a type of " benevolent executioner." In his 
office of Mayor of Chavinac, the good man was able 
to be of immense service to the family of his patron 

148 




«, jmj.KM";'" )>»;j,A I"AVKTTB,M.\K>:<lfAI, nBSC/V>tl>S,CT''»{lt,VI, l>KI,A MILK'K PAalSIBXSB .'• 



From a rare unpublished print in the collection of M. Godefeoy Meyer, Paris 



ainti i^er f amilp 

during the revolutionary tempest. After France was 
again at peace, he was bade to live at the chateau, 
which from that period became his home and where, 
in 1 83 1, he passed peacefully from this world. From 
the Commune he received the annual pension of 600 
francs. 

Agricultural improvements were not the only ones 
which the general contemplated. Living far from 
Chavinac, as he had done for so many years, it was 
natural that there should be many repairs necessary. 
From the time of his father's death it had been inhab- 
ited little except by his aunts, as his mother preferred 
the life at Paris, where she visited her mother and 
father until her early death. Consequently, there were 
many points at which the mason's trowel and the patch- 
ing up of the carpenter were sadly required. With his 
preference for a country life, Lafayette entered heart 
and soul into the plans for the improvement and em- 
bellishing of his property. He had the architect Vau- 
doyer, a man of some note, come to Chavinac, and dis- 
cussed with him the details of the work. This Vaudoyer 
must have been somewhat of a character, enthusiastic 
and erratic, if one may judge from a letter which he 
wrote to the general after the latter had left home to 
resume his public career. The following is the " ex- 
traordinary " document: 

Chavinac, July 4, 1792. 

"... The citizens of Chavinac very much regret 
your weather cocks, which, according to your orders, I 
have taken down. They fear that now they do not 
have them to look at, they will no longer be able to sow, 
reap, or to make hay, or choose the best time to cut 
wood. The plan of Mme. de Lafayette is to replace 
some of them elsewhere than on your house, but there 
is no place but the house of the Cure or the belfry, 
and to put it there it would be necessary to take off the 
cross, which might prove a subject of inconvenience. 

149 



la^atiame tie Hafapette 

Could not they be put on some neighbouring hill, or 
on a tree of Liberty? I have received the nine pictures 
of the revolution that you ordered from M. Hoiiel be- 
fore your departure ; they are ' I'Evenement du Prince 
Lambesec,' ' Prise d'armes aux Invalides,' ' Prise de la 
Bastille,' ' Interieur de la Bastille,' ' Quete de Mme. de 
Lafayette au sepulchre,' ' Benediction des drapeau a 
Notre Dame,' ' Arrive de roi a Paris le 17 Juillet,' 
' Arrive de roi a Paris le 6 Octobre.' Had the times 
permitted I should have had pleasure in raising a monu- 
ment to liberty on the ruins of the Bastille; and, if at 
a future time, even without being impelled by so splen- 
did and inspiring a subject, I can have some success, 
I hope, that fired by an equally powerful motive, I 
shall be able to obtain honour. My sojourn at Cha- 
vinac hinders the execution of these thoughts, but I 
console myself in the thought that if I did not raise 
the tree of Liberty, I built the temple of him who was 
its defender in America, (le galerie Washington,) and 
the sanctuary of him who first brought, planted, and 
protected it in France, (your dwelling.)" 

Strange brain ! which could produce such a jumble 
of weather-cocks and "temples" of liberty! what 
would have been the ultimate appearance of old Cha- 
vinac, had the restorations been fully completed, would 
be hard to say, but they were abandoned later, owing 
to the march of political events. The weaving estab- 
lishment became a source of much profit to the little 
community. It was under the direction of an English- 
man, skilled in such craft, but for some unknown 
reason it finally closed its doors amid great regret from 
those who had profited. After his return from Amer- 
ica, the general, struck with the agriculture in that 
country, had come over from England, from Suffolk, 
a chef de pratique (practical farmer), and distin- 
guished agriculturist named John Dyson, in whose 
hands he placed the management of the demesne of 

150 



9lnti J^er f amilp 

Chavinac, with directions to spare nothing to make it 
a model of perfection, with the desire of setting an 
example of what rural farming should be to the labour- 
ers of the village. Under the management of Dyson, 
who passed a year or more there, the barns were filled 
with many new and strange farming implements, and 
the breed of cattle greatly improved. To this day there 
are descendants of a very distinguished race of Suffolk 
pigs, imported by Dyson, which still bear the name of 
"Tonkin." 

Another quaint and interesting bit of information 
about the chateau is the description of the room occu- 
pied by Mme. de Lafayette while there. Meagre it is 
and brief, and one can almost see the ignorant com- 
missary and his underlings, never before admitted to 
the hall, much less to the bedroom of the lady of the 
castle, pulling, feeling, and examining the objects which 
they saw for the first time, and racking their peasant 
brains for the right appellations by which to distinguish 
them in the inventory taken for the satisfaction of those 
ruling in the name of the Republic, " One and indi- 
visible." There was " a bed, composed of two mat- 
tresses, one feather bed, and one of hair, one counter- 
pane of quilted linen and one of crimson satin. The 
canopy of the bed, its head, curtains, and bolster in 
crimson satin, i commode with four drawers and a 
marble top; a small book case of walnut, containing 
about 200 volumes; eight arm chairs upholstered in tap- 
estry; two bergeres (with) cushions; three arm chairs 
in velvet ; two window curtains in white ' toile ' ; two 
maps, those of France and the departement; i card 
table; i backgammon board; i mahogany table; one 
forte-piano,' and one walnut table; i picture represent- 
ing the destruction of the Bastille; five family pictures; 
one pier glass in two pieces ; i clock ; two sconces at 
either side of the chimney, and two candlesticks of sil- 
vered copper." 

Poor " Noailles Lafayette," as she signs herself, 

151 



sr^atiame ht Safapette 

what a troubled existence was hers ! Of all people she 
was fitted for and longed to enjoy a career of domestic 
tranquillity. Greatness was " thrust upon her. Scarce- 
ly had she rested two months in the calm of Chavinac, 
when her husband was appointed to command one of 
the three armies formed at this time. He left Cha- 
vinac in December, 179 1. Shortly after, her mother 
and sister were obliged to return to Paris. She bade 
them farewell calmly, little thinking that the parting 
was for eternity. . . . Her sister, Mme. de Mon- 
tagu, about this time went to England with her 
husband, leaving Mme. de Lafayette with her four- 
teen-year-old daughter and her aunt for her only com- 
panions; the children were too young to be of much 
pleasure or anything but a care. The violence of old 
Mme. de Chavinac's political feelings and opinions made 
it impossible to discuss with any calmness the events of 
the hour. During Lafayette's stay at the chateau there 
had been many and animated arguments on the subject 
of his backsliding from the ways of his forefathers; 
which conversations usually ended in both parties be- 
coming exceedingly heated and dropping the matter for 
further reference. It is doubtful if Mme. de Chavinac 
would have permitted another professing such heresy 
to remain under the same roof which had sheltered 
those whose name was illustrious, but her nephew was 
the privileged member of the family. He had long 
been the last of his race, though sturdy young George 
bade fair to become an ornament to his distinguished 
family. So once more Mme. de Lafayette was obliged 
to find what comfort she could in prayer, her faith in 
her husband being ever the guiding star, as it had been 
in the time when he first left her, a child, to go and 
fight for the American patriots. 

In December Lafayette had gone to join his regi- 
ment. In the blustering days of March war was de- 
clared, that part of the army under his command being 
the first to engage. The death of M. de Gouvion, who 

152 



had been a major-general of the National Guard, 
brought home keenly to the anxious woman the extreme 
danger of her husband's position. Ever acting for his 
good, she stifled her wish to join him, though having 
his permission to do so, fearing that she might hamper 
his movements or that he might be accused of trying 
to put his family In a place of safety, she decided to 
remain at Chavinac. Life there was not lacking in 
excitement. Shortly after this, on one occasion, a party 
of Volontiers de la Gironde passed through the village 
on their way to join the army. They behaved very 
violently, some of them threatening to set fire to her 
house. Mme. de Lafayette was a woman of action, 
and had not come of a line of soldiers without inherit- 
ing some of their qualities. She promptly invited all 
the officers to dinner, and gave orders that the men 
of that detachment, billeted in the village, should be 
fed at her expense. Her prompt action created the 
desired effect. Her dignified demeanour commanded 
respect, and her evident loyalty saved her from further 
molestation. After this she enjoyed comparative peace 
from annoyances of this kind. 



153 



CHAPTER XII 

THE position into which circumstances forced 
M. de Lafayette at this time was one of un- 
satisfactory and extremely critical nature. 
Never, perhaps, in the history of the world, 
has there been a period when self-interest and intrigue, 
masquerading in the guise of patriotism, was so strong, 
so dominantly powerful. There were many true and 
sincere patriots, but they were in the minority and un- 
able to stem the rush of those who cared nothing for 
the cause they so badly championed, seeing in it but a 
means of further enriching and gaining honours for 
themselves. Utterly incorruptible, and standing for 
that reason apart from the mass, Lafayette gained the 
hatred of many who were less oblivious to personal 
aggrandisement. One of the intrigues of this moment 
was a widespread plot to ruin him. He had, by his 
practical knowledge of military affairs, been able to 
make many reforms in the army, replacing the poor 
discipline and luxuriousness of former days with a sim- 
plicity and order which was the first step toward cre- 
ating that magnificent force which a few years later con- 
quered Europe and threatened the Orient. 

In regard to this intrigue. While at Paris he re- 
ceived orders on March 24th, in the evening, to form 
an army corps and train of artillery, and to be at Givet 
on the 30th. This, to the disappointment of his ene- 
mies, he did; accomplishing the unexpected march of 
fifty-six leagues in five days, and with troops largely 
composed of very raw material. It was in one of the 

154 



a^atiame He Itafapette anti ^tt iFamilp 

skirmishes shortly after that M. de Gouvion was killed. 
The most daring and fearless action of Lafayette's 
career was probably that celebrated letter in which he 
attacked the Jacobins, and which caused such terrible 
excitement at this period. He was, above all, before 
all, a patriot; he saw that the enemies of his country, 
at home and abroad, had formed plots to make the 
advocates of liberty commit such excesses and behave 
in such an outrageous manner that sensible people 
would turn from them in sheer disgust. The Jacobins 
were the most extreme and furious partisans of liberty; 
their lawlessness disgusted him ; he attacked them. Can 
one picture the excitement when that famous letter was 
read in the National Assembly on the fair summer day 
of June 1 6th? 

" Gentlemen : The public cause is in danger. 
The fate of France depends chiefly on her representa- 
tives. The nation looks to them for safety; but by 
giving herself a constitution she has prescribed to them 
the only course by which they can save her. . . . 

" You are placed in difficult circumstances. France 
is threatened abroad and agitated at home. While for- 
eign courts announce the audacious project of attacking 
our national sovereignty, and declare themselves the 
enemies of France, our domestic enemies, intoxicated 
with fanaticism or pride, cherish chimerical hopes and 
harass us by their insolent animosity. 

" It is your duty, gentlemen, to put down these ene- 
mies; and you will only have power to do so inasmuch 
as you are constitutional and just. 

" It is no doubt your wish to put them down; but 
cast your eyes on what is passing both in the bosom of 
your own Assembly and around you. 

" Can you conceal from yourselves that a faction, 
and to avoid vague denunciations, the Jacobin faction, 
has caused all these disorders? I here openly accuse 
that faction. Organised like a separate power in its 

^5S 



0^atidme tie Slafapette 

resource and its ramifications, blindly directed by a few 
ambitious leaders, that sect forms a distinct corporation 
amongst the French people, whose power it usurps by 
subduing its representatives and agents. 

" This faction in public sittings style respect for 
the laws, aristocracy, and their infraction, patriotism. 
They pronounce eulogies on the assassins of Versailles, 
panegyrise the crimes of Jourdan, and the recital of the 
assassinations which sullied the city of Metz drew from 
them infernal acclamations of approval. . . . 

"It is I who denounce to you this Jacobin sect; 
I, who without referring to my past life, may reply to 
those who suspect me : ' Stand forward at this critical 
juncture, when the character of every individual is about 
to be tried, and let us see which of us, most inflexible 
In his principles, most firm in his resistance, will best 
brave these obstacles and dangers which traitors con- 
ceal from their country, but which true citizens know 
how to estimate and oppose.' " 

It was a remarkable letter, and brought a storm of 
abuse and vituperation on the head of its writer, for 
its scathing truth could not be denied. A majority of 
the Assembly agreed with Lafayette, and he received 
much praise from people of conservative Ideas, and 
from those to whom the welfare of their country was 
dear. By the leaders of the Jacobins he was denounced 
to the Assembly. He was called an " Aristocrat " by 
those very Jacobins whose ministerial orders to him had 
been, while in the Netherlands, " that he was not to 
yield to his democratic ideas." At the same time the 
court party circulated libels, In which they accused him 
of being a royalist, and making his army " a seditious 
rampart " for himself! 

What was the strong influence at work which had 
caused the royal family to conceive so bitter a hatred 
for their — once — friend? So Intense was it that they 
refused offers from Lafayette which, had they been ac- 

156 



cepted, would have enabled them to leave France in 
safety." 

" He would save the king," said the court party, 
" but not royalty " ; for, to the court party, constitu- 
tional royalty was nothing. The queen replied, " that 
it would be too much to owe their lives once more to 
M. de Lafayette." It is more than likely that the 
secret letters promising help from the coalition made 
the royal family refuse to listen to advice which would 
have proved their salvation. Naturally, they could not 
look on the patriots without prejudice, and they hoped 
that their friends would soon bring armies to the re- 
lief. Repulsed by those he would have helped, de- 
nounced by his enemies for striving to give that help, 
hated by those who feared him, Lafayette travelled to 
the frontier and joined that division of the army which 
was under his command. 

What harrowing anxiety did those at Chavinac 
suffer during this time ! Each day brought more alarm- 
ing tidings. First came the news of the bloody tenth 
of August. Adrienne's heart beat sickeningly as she pic- 
tured her mother, who, all that day of slaughter could 
do nothing but listen between the closed shutters of 
the house where she was living, in the Faubourg Saint- 
Germain, with Mme. de Grammont, as the situation of 
the Hotel de Noailles, between the Tuileries and the 
Jacobin Club, had made it an unsafe place of abode. 
Her father, the Due d'Ayen, just returned from a visit 
to Switzerland, which was necessitated by his health, 
was at the Tuileries, fighting in defense of his king. 
The hoarse cries of the infuriated mob could be heard 
across the river; the echo of the cannons broke the 
deathlike stillness which the white lips of those waiting 
women were too drawn to break as wife and daughter 
prayed together for those who were fighting in the pal- 
ace. The servants moved to and fro on tiptoes, trem- 
blingly crowding near Mme. d'Ayen, who courageously 
put self aside, and tried to reassure those dependent on 

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St^atiame tie itafapette 

her. When night came she slipped from a side door, 
dressed in the garments of one of her maids, and, ac- 
companied by a trusted man-servant, joined that band 
of searchers who roved to and fro, candle in hand, 
among the peaceful dead, piled in systematic heaps on 
the bridges and in the garden before the palace, like 
so much wood, and stripped of all rank or ensignia. 
Fervent were her prayers of thanksgiving, for those 
she loved were not among the dead. 

The Due d'Ayen had managed to escape from the 
mob, and was in safety, and M. de Grammont, also, 
had been fortunate in eluding those human bloodhounds. 
All this, however, Mme. de Lafayette did not know. 
The news of the attack on the palace, and the conse- 
quent wanton slaughter was all she heard for some 
time. Whether her mother, her father, her sister lived 
or died she was unable to conjecture. She waited in 
silent agony. What the hours would bring no mortal 
might hazard a guess. Her bitter cup was full. Father 
and mother in the greatest danger, perhaps even now 
dead; sisters scattered to the four winds; her husband, 
with a price upon his head, deprived of his command, 
and, once " the idol of the nation," obliged to flee to 
Switzerland! What a burden for one tender heart to 
bear! And, added to this, not even the poor satisfac- 
tion of knowing if her husband had managed to effect 
his escape. . . . Finally, when the suspense had be- 
come almost more than she could bear, she received a 
letter through her sister, Mme. de Noailles, telling her 
that he had been successful. Her joy was as great as 
her grief had been profound. She was almost happy, 
but the poor old aunt was utterly inconsolable, and 
could comprehend nothing but the fact that her beloved 
nephew had left his country, and that she would projb- 
ably never see him again. Not pausing to reflect that, 
had it not been for her sense of duty toward this an- 
cient relative, she might have shared the dangers of 
the last year with her beloved husband; perhaps even 

158 



Stnti ^tt f amilp 

now, having the joy of being with him in his exile, 
Adrienne resolutely put aside thoughts of the " might 
have been " to face the stern reality confronting 
her. 

How much sorrow some men bring to those women 
who love them ! How many devoted hearts they cause 
to ache; what tears are shed for them; and the cause 
to which they devote themselves is not grateful; the 
country for which they give their youth, their blood, 
their wealth, is a selfish mistress, a Moloch, consuming 
many . . . and yet, how few think of the lonely 
hearth, while led onward by that chimerical myth which 
men call glory! Looking back to ancient history, it 
would be instructive to know just what were the opin- 
ions and sentiments of those Spartan dames when their 
dearly beloveds took to the war path? Underneath 
the classic togas were hearts, just as of to-day — what 
were their feelings? 

Prepared for the worst, not knowing what might 
happen next, Mme. de Lafayette, in expectation of the 
house being pillaged, burned and destroyed all her 
papers, hid her valuables, among them the sword of 
honour given by the United States, on August 24, 1779, 
to Lafayette, and presented by the grandson of Benja- 
min Franklin to the general. It was very handsome, 
being rnade of massive gold, with emblematic designs 
illustrative of Lafayette's setting out for America to 
help the cause. Hidden for years near the chateau, it 
lay buried unknown to all while the Terror reigned, 
and the land of the Lafayettes passed from them at 
the auction which was held by the " nation." On 
George Lafayette's return from America he had it dug 
up, finding the blade totally destroyed by rust. " He 
^managed to hide the handle, and took it to his father 
in Holland, though it was then very dangerous to take 
gold out of France. After the eighteenth Brumaire, 
Lafayette returned to France, and had the blade of the 
sword presented to him by the National Guard on his 

159 



£l^atiame tie ilafapette 

retirement in 179 1, put in this handle. This blade was 
forged from the bolts and bars of the Bastille." 

She arranged to send her children into the country 
at the first alarm. A priest, assermente offered her a 
place in the mountains which would be quite safe. 
Here she sent George and his tutor, M. Frestel. They 
departed under cover of the night. The girls she sent 
to a small town about two leagues away (Langeac). 
Having in this manner relieved herself of some anx- 
iety, she returned to Chavinac to remain with her aunt, 
who, somewhat selfishly, would not be induced to leave 
her home. After this Mme. de Lafayette waited with 
calmness and resignation what might happen, thanking 
Heaven, with fervent prayers, that her husband was 
out of the hands of those who wished him ill. 

Taking advantage of a slight lull in the tempest 
of affairs, she went to Brioude, the most important 
town in the district, where she received many marks of 
sympathy and respect. True to the principles and 
opinions of her absent one, she refused the sympathy 
offered by several aristocrate ladies, saying " that she 
would take as an insult any token of esteem not shared 
with her husband." Staunch in her faith, she publicly 
attended mass said by a priest who had not taken the 
oath. As a matter of precaution, she requested that 
seals should be affixed upon her house by order of the 
" district," in this way gaining some slight protection 
from the hourly expected " brigands." Much respect 
was shown her by the commissioners, the word emigre 
was not inscribed on the official report, so she comforted 
herself with the slight hope that the Administration was 
not unfriendly. Yielding to the entreaties of her 
daughters, and taking courage from the more tranquil 
state of the country, she took them home with her, be- 
ing somewhat cheered about this time by receiving two 
letters from her husband, but still greatly agitated about 
his arrest. 

She was lulled in false security. On the morning 
160 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

of September lo, 1792, while still at her devotions, 
the house was rudely entered by a party of armed men, 
who invaded the privacy of her room, being led by one 
M. Puy, who "was suspected of having lately mur- 
dered a prisoner." An order from the Committee of 
Public Safety, signed by M. Roland, ordered her to 
come to Paris. The officers were under the charge of 
the commissary. 

Mme. de Lafayette showed no anxiety or agitation. 
Swiftly she made her preparations, not wishing to keep 
these uncouth soldiers waiting. One of them boasted 
to her " that he had killed his officer, because he was 
an aristocrat." Paying no attention to him, she calmly 
and affectionately bade farewell to her clinging chil- 
dren, who had escaped from their governess and run 
to their mother's room, thus betraying their presence 
to the soldiers, and preventing the carefully laid plan 
of hiding them being put into effect. The soldiers 
broke open her writing desk, confiscating all the papers 
it contained, among which were many letters from her 
husband. 

" You will see in them, sir," she said to the com- 
missary, " that if there had been tribunals in France, 
M. de Lafayette would have submitted to them, certain 
as he was that not an action of his life could incriminate 
him in the eyes of real patriots." 

" Nowadays, madame," he answered, " public opin- 
ion is the only tribunal." 

While waiting for the courageous prisoner, those 
noisy, dirty soldiers overran the house, rummaging in 
the hoarded treasures of years, pocketing such trifles as 
struck their fancy. One of them, seeing a number of 
ancient pictures, rudely demanded of the old house- 
keeper, who was feeble and half -blind with age: " Who 
are these? Some grand aristocrats, no doubt?" 

" Good people who are no more," she answered. 
" If they were alive things would not be going so badly 
as they are now." 

161 



isr^atiame iie Slafapette 

In reply to these remarks, the soldiers amused 
themselves by running their bayonets through the pic- 
tures, undeterred by the torrent of abuse which the 
dame hurled at the heads of such vandals, calling all 
the saints to descend in person and rend them with swift 
justice. 

The first stage of the unhappy journey was most 
trying to Mme. de Lafayette, but, in contrast to the 
lack of consideration shown her by the soldiers, the 
signs of sympathy and kindness displayed by the hum- 
ble people in the towns and villages through which 
they passed were as balm to her wounded heart. She 
appreciated these demonstrations of her lowly friends 
even more from the fact that they braved the anger of 
the authorities to pay their respects to the wife of one 
who had always been their friend. As the soldiers were 
tired, the party stopped at Foix for the night. Old 
Mme. de Chavinac, whom human persuasion had never 
before induced to leave Chavinac, had insisted on ac- 
companying her niece, but never once was heard to com- 
plain, though the travelling of that day, more particu- 
larly under such unpleasant circumstances, was very fa- 
tiguing, even for those younger than she. The ladies 
were followed from home by some of the servants who, 
having mingled with the crowd, hoped in this way to 
learn something to aid the cause of the prisoners. 

On reaching Le Puy, on the following day, Mme. 
de Lafayette requested to be immediately conducted to 
the " Departement." 

" I respect orders coming from the Administration," 
she said, " as much as I detest those coming from else- 
where." 

Scarcely a week previous, a prisoner being conducted 
through this town had been murdered on reaching the 
suburbs. Naturally, much apprehension was felt for 
the safe conduct of Mme. de Lafayette and her daugh- 
ters, to whom she said : 

" If your father knew you were here, how anxious 
162 



9lnli l^cr f amilp 

he would be, but at the same time what pleasure your 
conduct would give him." 

The prisoners arrived safely at the " Departement," 
with no annoyance except the hoarse cries of the rnob, 
and the stones which were thrown at them and fell into 
the carriage. As the " Departement " had been con- 
vened immediately on their arrival, Mme. de Lafayette 
went at once before the ministers, under whose pro- 
tection she placed herself, saying, " it represented to 
her the power of the people, which she always re- 
spected." 

" You receive. Messieurs, your orders from M. 
Roland or from whosoever you please. I only receive 
them from you, and I give myself up as your prisoner." 

Was not this speech an exhibition of tact, soothing 
to the amour propre of rustic authority? Adrienne de 
Noailles Lafayette was not the descendant of genera- 
tions of famous courtiers and diplomats without receiv- 
ing some impress of the diplomacy which had raised 
them to such height and power in the council of their 
sovereigns. At her desire, the letters of her husband 
which had been seized were copied before being sent 
to Paris to the Assembly, as she well knew how easily 
falsehoods are manufactured from innocent material. 
She asked permission to read them aloud, saying, in 
answer to the suggestion that it might prove painful, 
" On the contrary, I find support and comfort in the 
feelings they contain." 

Another instance of her thoughtful tact and care for 
others, lest their kindness to her should prove com- 
promising to them, is shown by the manner in which 
she openly and reproachfully upbraided the maire, M. 
Bertrand, for having so long ceased his visits to her 
house at Chavinac. In this way she wished to free 
him from the suspicion of seeming to show favour to 
her, as his kindness during that interview might have 
raised some such thought in the ever alert minds of his 
colleagues. At the suggestion of Mme, de Lafayette 

16'; 



St^atiamc tie Hafaprttc 

that it was useless to make her journey to Paris, she 
was granted permission, after much haggling, argu- 
ment, and useless delays, by the " Departement " to 
live at her own home, first having given her parole. 
This permission was due to the efforts of that excellent 
man, M. Montfleury, but it was a long time before suc- 
cess crowned his efforts, and a voluminous correspond- 
ence was carried on. The authorities themselves wrote 
to M. Roland that the state of the country made it 
unsafe for the prisoner to go to Paris, and Mme. de 
Lafayette herself wrote to M. Brissot, whom she had 
formerly known, the following letter: 

Le Puy, September 12, 1792. 

" Monsieur: I believe you to be sincerely fanatic 
for liberty. It is a compliment I pay to very few peo- 
ple at this moment. I shall not examine whether that 
fanaticism, like religious fanaticism, does not generally 
defeat its own object, but I cannot persuade myself that 
one who has done so much for the emancipation of the 
negroes can be the agent of tyranny. I believe that if 
you are impassioned by the ends which your party 
seeks, at least you will abhor the means it employs. I 
am sure that you esteem, I might almost say that you 
respect, M. de Lafayette as a sincere and courageous 
friend of liberty, even when you persecute him because 
his opinions are different from your own as to the 
means of establishing freedom in France, and sup- 
ported by courage like his and by faithful adherence 
to his oaths, are contrary to the party in which you 
have enlisted and to your new revolution. I believe 
all this, and therefore I apply to you, although disdain- 
ing to address myself to others; if I am mistaken, tell 
me so, and I shall have troubled you for the last time. 

" A lettre de cachet from M. Roland, of the 2d 
September, in compliance with a resolution of the Com- 
mittee of General Safety, dated August 19th, caused 
me to be brought here on Monday last by an indi- 

164 



vidual, Justice of the Peace in this town, who had re- 
ceived orders to convey me to Paris with my children, 
if they were found with me, after having communicated 
with the * Departement ' of the Haute-Loire in the 
jurisdiction of which I had fixed my retreat. I state 
with sorrow that the Procureur General syndic of the 
' Departement ' had the weakness to give M. Roland's 
commissary an order for an armed force, and with 
gratitude that the commissary and his men paid us 
every sort of attention on the way. My eldest daughter 
was with me, and far from trying to hide herself, she 
rejoiced that the orders were common to us both. An 
aunt of my husband's, for whose sake I remained sepa- 
rated from him all last winter, has been kind enough 
to accompany me here. 

" When M. Aulagnier, the Commissary, asked me 
where I desired to be conveyed in this town, I answered 
that my wish was to put myself under the protection of 
the municipality and go to the ' Departement,' whose 
business it was in the town of Le Puy to give orders at 
Chavinac, my place of residence, belonging to the dis- 
trict of Brioude and to the ' Canton ' of Paulhaguet. 
What I said on entering the Assembly room, and what 
was decided upon by the Conseil General and the 
Commissary who arrested me, is recorded in the of&cial 
report, in which I expressed my wishes and made my 
request to the ' Departement.' My aunt desired me to 
speak of the fatigues of a journey after the many trials 
my health has undergone, but I would not allege a pre- 
text when I had such good reasons for not going to 
Paris. I was about to speak of the dangers which the 
events of the 2d September made one fear, but having 
asked the date of M. Roland's letter and having found 
that it had been written on that very day, I was desir- 
ous of sparing remarks which might be wounding to his 
feelings ; for, although I do not wish to address myself 
to him, still I would not insult him. I merely said to 
the members of the ' Departement ' that, as I was under 

165 



a^aUame tie Eafapette anH #er ifamilp 

their protection, it was their business to foresee and to 
prevent the dangers I might have to fear. They intend 
writing in concert with M. Aulagnier, and I shall trust 
to their prudence. 

" I do not know what the answer will be. It is 
easy to see that if it is dictated by justice it will restore 
me to complete liberty. If it is according to my heart's 
desire, I shall be allowed to join my husband in Eng- 
land as soon as he is delivered from prison, in order 
that we may go to America and establish ourselves to- 
gether so soon as the voyage can be effected. But if 
I am to be kept as a hostage, my captivity would be 
less hard to bear were I to choose Chavinac as my 
prison on parole, and on the responsibility of the munic- 
ipality of my village. If you wish to serve me you 
will have the satisfaction of doing a good action by 
mitigating the fate of one who is unjustly persecuted 
and who, you well know, has neither the means nor the 
wish to injure. 

" I consent to owe you that service. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

This (since) famous letter she despatched by mes- 
senger to Paris, to meet with a reception which could 
not be foretold. It must depend on the mood of the 
recipient at its hour of arrival, on the political phase 
of the preceding moment, on ten thousand trivial 
things impossible to prophesy. Mme. de Lafayette 
placed it in the hands of Heaven, and hoped. 



i66 



CHAPTER XIII 

MOST things for which we wish come to us in 
the course of time, but when they come it 
is too late — ^we have ceased to care. Al- 
most immediately the permission to reside 
in her own home had been granted, Mme. de Lafayette 
learned that her beloved husband, instead of being set 
free, had been delivered up by the Coalition to the 
King of Prussia. This, when she had given her parole 
not to leave Chavinac. ... It was almost too cruel 
to bear with resignation. Had she been free to come 
and go to Paris, she might have been of the greatest 
service to the prisoners by using what influence she had 
at her command. She was thrown in the deepest de- 
spair, and so great was the depth of her misery that the 
great consolation of her life, religion, was scarcely 
enough to make her bear this added sorrow. 

It is extraordinary, looking back on the affairs of 
Lafayette about this time, to what a degree private, 
and shame to say it, French spite and malice entered 
into the chain of events which kept him so long cap- 
tive. There is very little reason to think that the King 
of Prussia or the Emperor of Austria had any par- 
ticular personal feeling in the matter. Lafayette was 
to them a state prisoner, merely known by his number. 
At the audience which the latter sovereign accorded 
Mme. de Lafayette at a later date — the one in which 
she obtained permission to share the captivity of her 
husband — his reply, " I grant it to you; as for his lib- 
erty, that is impossible; my hands are tied," makes it 
seem that a strong influence must have been exerted 

167 



jsr^aliame tie Hafapette 

on persons in high position to keep the loyal French- 
man from his country. 

By the party of the Jacobins he was hated; they 
had every reason to keep him in prison. They were at 
that time very powerful. He knew too much. He 
stood, a patriot of absolute and incorruptible integ- 
rity, of unsullied honour, and this among those who 
from the very dregs had risen to power. He was hated 
by the aristocrats — the court party — for his republi- 
canism, by the Republicans for the control of self which 
-distinguished him and for his refusal to join in the 
excesses perpetrated in the name of Liberte. Those 
principles of republicanism, of equal rights of man, 
which had been so successfully established in America 
by that long and exhausting struggle of the young col- 
ony, and of which he had been, and was, an enthusiastic 
exponent, were distorted by his countrymen into night- 
mares too hideous for words. The rebellion by which 
the colonies of America had thrown off their yoke had 
been a struggle worthy of its object. It was an honest 
fight, waged by the bone and sinew of the country; 
a struggle in which no one was wantonly injured; which 
consisted of men meeting men in open war. It was 
purely a war of patriotism, of convictions. The men 
whose brains directed the struggle were men of cool 
heads and good, sensible ideas, well fitted to carry to 
a conclusion what they had undertaken only after 
much thought and reflection. But the French Revolu- 
tion — what fearful pictures does the mere name call to 
the imagination ! That an upheaval of some sort was 
inevitable, the mind of the statesman well realised; he 
had expected it for long past. Without going into de- 
tails, the country did what other countries had done, 
but it did it differently. The Magna Charta, compelled 
by those unyielding barons, had given rights to Eng- 
land in the far-off ages, after the gallant Cceur de Lion 
slept his last warrior sleep, and uncertain, treacherous 
John reigned in his stead. Then the people imagined 

i68 



themselves grown wiser, and decapitated unfortunate 
Charles Stuart. What did they accomplish? For 
twelve years a Puritan protectorate — then? The fas- 
cinating wanderer returned to his own, and the natural 
spirits of the nation, swathed in suppressing sackcloth 
and ashes for more than a decade, burst forth, and the 
court of the " Merry Monarch " has come down to us 
as an example of what followed the psalm-singing 
" Praise-God-Barebones " gentlemen. The establish- 
ment of revolutions is a bad precedent; but if they 
are necessary to the welfare of mankind, let them 
be done quickly and decently, if one may use that 
expression. 

That time must bring changes is undeniable. That 
the condition of a country, ground down by the iron 
heel of feudalism, was deplorable, is an acknowledged 
fact. By men hungry for bread, rumours of the exag- 
gerated luxury at the court were not received in that 
benign frame of mind which is the prerogative of true 
and well-fed Christians. In fact, they were not cor- 
dial when the menu of a court banquet was mentioned. 
They did not pause to think that the money wrung 
from them was spent in the country. It did not return 
to them. Some one became rich. As a rule, the nobles 
spent lavishly and were always in debt. They could 
not be accused of hoarding. Who, then, had the 
wealth? If Jacques Bonhomme had paused to reason, 
which he did not possess the brains to do, he would 
have found that the bourgeoise, the smug shopkeeper, 
who each Sunday promenaded with his family, plump, 
well-clad, and prosperous, was the one to whom he 
should have clamoured for a distribution of wealth. 
That the merchants of Paris had long been a synonym 
for wealth, Is a fact little noticed in discussing these 
times. They had been rich for hundreds of years. To 
this day remains the hotel of one Pierre Beauvals, who 
began life as a pedlar, amassing an enormous fortune 
from the sale of his ribbons and trinkets, with which, 

169 



a^atiame tie Hafapette 

or part of which, he purchased a title from Anne of 
Austria or Mazarin or whomsoever the proper person 
was. He had the shrewd sense to marry Catherine 
Bellier, once first femme-de-chambre to the beautiful 
Anne — a woman who did not scruple to turn to account 
any information of which this confidential position had 
made her the possessor to gain the end she had in view. 
" One-eyed, odious, and of profligate life," a contem- 
porary describes her, she was a great favourite with her 
late mistress, though whether from fear or love would 
be hard to surmise. She cleverly induced Anne to give 
her, as a present, all the stone required in the construc- 
tion of the Hotel Beauvais ; and it was from one of its 
beautifully wrought iron balconies — now gone — that 
the queen and the chosen members of her court wit- 
nessed the magnificent procession which met and 
escorted the pretty girlish Maria Theresa, the bride of 
her famous son, Louis XIV, through the streets of 
Paris on August 26, 1660, an epoch before the " divine 
right " of kings had been called into question. But the 
times changed. The country was poverty stricken, the 
court revelling in luxury; hundreds of thousands of 
crowns were wasted on the caprice of a wanton favour- 
ite. The peasant, if let alone, would never have been 
able to plan and execute what followed. But there 
were philosophers, turbulent spirits, who worked se- 
cretly, stirring the smouldering fires of discontent till 
at last a blaze burst forth which consumed life, honour, 
wealth, everything, leaving the nation a seething mass 
of debris. There is no doubt that the effects which 
crowned the efforts of the promoters of the Revolution 
far exceeded what had been first intended. Let us 
charitably hope so, for surely no one in human guise 
could plan such a debauch of inhuman, devilish actions 
as filled the next few years. Like the familiar fable 
of the genie who was released from the bottle, and 
would not return, much to the consternation of his lib- 
erator, the masses, loosed from the thrall of years, re- 

170 



^nti l^er f amilp 

fused to be again controlled and wildly rushed on — to 
what? 

At the period of Lafayette's treacherous imprison- 
ment, the Revolution had not reached that pinnacle of 
frenzy which followed later. The letter from M. Ro- 
land, according permission to Mme. de Lafayette to 
reside at Chavinac, on the responsibility of the Admin- 
istration, arrived about this time. Having been of- 
fended at some of the expressions in her letter, the one 
he wrote was full of insults to Lafayette and rudeness 
to his wife. He concluded somewhat childishly, quot- 
ing from her letter to M. Brissot, " ' That to consent to 
owe him a service,' came from the antiquated pride of 
what was called nobility." This clever document, be- 
ing read to the " Departement," called forth thunders 
of applause, particularly the last sentence, which was 
reread three times amid the wildest uproar and appro- 
bation. 

Thus came the no longer desired permission to re- 
main at Chavinac on parole, at the moment when it 
was of the most vital importance that she should be free 
to go as her interests directed. Being a just and hon- 
ourable, as well as a most conscientious woman, she 
could not refuse to fulfil a suggestion, a promise which 
had been made of her own free will. She could not 
leave France; there was no way of escape. Still, 
" Hope springs eternal," but it was a frightful thought, 
that consequent upon her own wish she must deprive 
herself of all hope of being able to join her husband 
and at times the feeling that she was practically power- 
less to help him nearly crushed her. 

The " Departement " proposing to the municipal- 
ity of Aurat, in which was Chavinac, to take care of 
the distinguished prisoners on its own responsibility, 
the meaning of the word was not clearly understood by 
one of the municipeaux, he inquired whether she would 
take the engagement to remain at Chavinac. " For in 
that case I would answer for her on my own respon- 

171 



£l^dtiame tie Hafapette 

sibility, for she is a worthy woman," he added with 
well-meant kindness and rural pomposity. It was, how- 
ever, decided by the " Departement " that the Com- 
mune should supply six men every day to guard Mme. 
de Lafayette, who, on hearing of this resolution, went 
immediately to the committee room. 

" I here declare, gentlemen," she said, " that I will 
not give the parole I offered if guards are to be placed 
at my door; choose between these two securities. I 
cannot be offended by your not trusting me, for my hus- 
band has given still better proofs of his patriotism than 
I have of my honesty; but you will not allow me to be- 
lieve in my own integrity and not add bayonets to my 
parole \ " 

How the heart of this intrepid woman throbbed as 
she addressed that Assembly, her hope trembling in the 
balance, waiting in breath-stilling anxiety, for, on the 
next words, hung her destiny. If her parole was not 
accepted, it meant a wild chance for liberty and love 
. . . she would be free to escape if she could . . . 
alas ! despair again tipped the balance which hope had 
swung into the clouds but a second before. It was 
decided that she should not be under guard, and every 
week her presence at Chavinac would be reported to 
the municipality. Before leaving Le Puy, she wrote 
again to M. Brissot, though the only reply she had re- 
ceived to her last letter had been the insulting epistle 
of M. Roland. Brissot was at this time beginning to 
withdraw from the extreme Terrorist party, and the 
weight of her parole bore so heavily on her spirits that 
she was willing to overlook much for the sake of gain- 
ing that which she wished for so ardently. 

Le Puy, October 4, 1792, day previous 
to my departure for Chavinac. 

" I ought not. Sir, to write to you, considering the 
use you made of my letters. But the feelings of revolt 
which have sprung up in my heart at my unjust cap- 

172 



^nU ^tt familp 

tivity, at the hard necessity of applying to the enemies 
of the object of my affections, and at the hackneyed cal- 
umnies addressed to me by M. Roland, are surpassed, 
since yesterday's news, by my deep affliction and alarm 
on hearing of the captivity even still more terrible than 
mine, of one who, still more than I do, deserves to be 
free. Do not any longer expect to find bitterness in 
my expressions nor even in the pride of oppressed in- 
nocence. I plead my cause with the sole desire of gain- 
ing it. I have already written to M. Roland by the 
last courier. I had just read in your gazette, the only 
one that contains any news of my husband, that he had 
been separated from MM. de Maubourg and de Pusy, 
and that he had been transferred to Spandau. His mis- 
fortunes, the risk his health is running, what I have to 
fear, what I have to learn, all these sufferings are too 
heavy for me to bear while I am separated from him, 
and when I reflect how utterly useless to my country 
are all these tortures of my heart, I do not believe any- 
body can persist in binding me by an engagement too 
lightly taken, but which is the price put upon the alle- 
viation of my captivity. Truly, Sir, it is attaching far 
too much importance to my person and too little to the 
prolongation of an act of injustice, thus to protect my 
confinement. 

" After all your interest has obtained for me, after 
your courageous conduct in withstanding a bloody fac- 
tion, I do not believe that you cannot and will not 
obtain from the Committee a cancellation of its decree. 
That decision was taken at a moment when it was 
feared that M. de Lafayette's opinions might encour- 
age citizens in their fidelity to the Constitution. I feel 
certain that M. Roland's order, which is entirely 
founded on that decision, should also be revoked, and 
that complete freedom should be restored to me. It 
is impossible that a certificate of residence in the prisons 
of the enemy for devotion to the cause of Liberty, 
should not be worth, for M. de Lafayette's wife, the 

173 



flr^atiame be Stafapette 

advantages an artistic wife would find in a certificate 
testifying that her husband was travelling to instruct 
himself in his art. I shall not speak of the barbarity 
of keeping wives as hostages, but I shall say that it is 
now completely impossible for my husband to harm or 
serve any cause. Allow me to repeat that it was only 
when reduced to the last extremity that he gave up 
serving the cause of liberty. 

" I confess, Sir, that I shall never believe that he 
who has so long sought to obtain the abolition of slav- 
ery, can refuse to employ his eloquence in delivering 
from slavery a woman who asks for no other liberty 
than that of locking herself within the walls, or at least 
near the walls, of the citadel of Spandau. M. Roland 
is good enough to assure me that he is persuaded / 
could not or would not do any harm. Then I must be 
set free; for according to the principles professed by 
M. Roland himself, good must be done to all with the 
least possible harm for each. And what harm would 
my freedom do? Let foreign enemies alone gratify 
their hatred against a sincere friend of liberty. Do not 
join with them in persecuting him in those most dear 
to his heart; let them see that in our country are to be 
found courageous representatives of the people who 
abhor useless crimes and defend innocence, at least 
when it is weak and suffering. 

" I hope soon to receive an answer to this letter. 
You can see by my words how utterly miserable I am, 
but no expression can describe the distracted state I am 
in, nor the gratitude I should feel towards my libera- 
tors, however great the sufferings they have hitherto 
made me endure. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

Though she had a great and long-standing aversion 
to M. Roland, she was pleased at the stand he had 
taken in the dreadful September massacres ; and having 
heard that he expressed disapprobation at the crimes 

174 



^nli f$tt f amilp 

committed, made up her mind to set self aside and write 
to him, as her friends all told her he was the one who 
could do the most to help her in her present trouble. It 
was with the greatest reluctance that she jfinally con- 
sented to address him: 

"Sir: I can only attribute to a kind feeling the 
change you have brought about in my situation. You 
have spared me the dangers of a too perilous journey, 
and consented that my place of retirement should be my 
prison. But any prison whatsoever has become insup- 
portable to me since I learnt that my husband had been 
transferred from town to town by the enemies of 
France, who were conducting them to Spandau. How- 
ever repugnant to my feelings it may be to owe any- 
thing to men who have shown themselves the enemies 
and the accusers of him whom I revere and love as I 
ought to do, it is in all the frankness of my heart that 
I vow eternal gratitude to whosoever would enable me 
to join my husband, by taking all the responsibility from 
the ' Administration,' and by giving me back my parole, 
if, in the event of France becoming more free, it were 
possible without danger. 

" It is on my knees, if necessary, that I implore this 
favour; imagine by that the state I am in. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

On returning the following day to Chavinac, ac- 
companied by the faithful aunt, her daughters, and the 
servants who had attended them, the administrators 
were surprised and somewhat touched to observe with 
what deep and sincere respect the ladies were treated 
by the country people. They were welcomed on their 
arrival by the municipality. 

" M. Roland believes that it is owing to aristocratic 
prejudices that I am unwilling to owe him his good 
offices," Mme. de Lafayette said, addressing them. 
" Yet I feel great pleasure and consider myself much 

175 



£l^atiame ht Hafapette 

honoured by being under the protection of the com- 
mune of Aurat; because I have for them the greatest 
esteem." 

As soon as the administration of Le Puy had gone 
home, the municipeaux were handsomely entertained at 
supper, being joined by their hostess, who drank with 
them the health of her husband amid much good will 
and fellowship. In the dead of night she received a 
visit from M. Frestel, who brought the welcome news 
that George was well and happy in his retreat. They 
consulted long and earnestly as to the best way of ren- 
dering service to M. de Lafayette, and it was this rea- 
son — that he might be of some use to his father — that 
made them hesitate about sending the boy out of 
France. She soon made her decision, and, time being 
precious, denied herself the joy of seeing him, even to 
say farewell, deciding that he should depart immedi- 
ately with his tutor. M. Frestel was to procure a 
tradesman's license, and In this character a passport to 
go to the fair at Bordeaux. If all went well the trav- 
ellers planned to cross to England, London probably 
being their destination, where they were to see the 
American minister, Mr. Pinkney, and discuss with him 
the best means of serving the prisoner. Tireless and 
unwearying, she wrote to each and every one from 
whom she could expect the slightest favourable inter- 
cession. Knowing the affectionate regard in which her 
husband always held General Washington, he was one 
of the first to whom she naturally turned for aid. In 
those dark days, when liberty and the cause of the 
American patriots, into which young Lafayette entered 
heart and soul, struggled against overwhelming odds, 
the impulsive Frenchman had sternly denied his long- 
ings to return to his young wife and those " whom he 
loved as no other man ever loved his friends," to stay 
with that quiet, self-contained leader of the ragged 
forces. To Lafayette, Washington was more than a 
man — a friend — he was the embodied spirit of repub- 

176 







O ^ 

O o 

o i 

^ 2 

^ Q 

c ° 



I .2 

o 

J g 

c 



llcanism, that principle which had led the prisoner of 
Olmiitz into all the misfortunes of his exciting life — 
now at their culmination. From one who had ever pro- 
fessed such friendship for her husband, Mme. de La- 
fayette naturally expected some aid. She could not 
fathom the silence which followed. So strictly was the 
family of the absent patriot watched and guarded that 
thanks only to the kindness of John Dyson was she able 
to get the letter out of France in safety, when it was 
forwarded from Lowestoff in Suffolk, finally reaching 
its destination. 

Poor, appealing letter, with its curious, tiny hand- 
writing, spelling of the ancien regime; its square, 
stained, and yellowed paper, on which all the lines have 
a decided upward slant, and, on the back the neat 
endorsement in Washington's hand, " From the Mar- 
chioness de Lafayette," and the date of its receipt; what 
hopes and fears agitated the heart and tormented the 
brain of her who wrote you ! It exists to-day, a relic of 
one of those " dead women asleep," whose nobility and 
faithfulness to the man she loved will cause the name 
of Adrienne de Lafayette to be remembered as an un- 
dying model of wifely devotion. In the letter which 
John Dyson wrote to Washington, he feelingly alludes 
to the Laf ayettes in the following words : 

GUNTON, NEAR LoWESTOFT IN SUFFOLK, 

December 8, 1792. 

" Sir: I am just arrived in England from the fam- 
ily of Mons. Lafayette, where I have constantly resided 
for the last twelve months. The following letter was 
delivered me by Mme. Lafayette with a view of its 
being copied and sent you by the first opportunity. 
Her present situation is truly affecting, separated from 
her husband without the means of hearing from him, 
herself in captivity under the safe guard of the Mu- 
nicipality, she is anxiously awaiting the decision of his 
and her own destiny. Under these circumstances she 

177 



sr^atiame tie ftafapette 

relies on your influence to adopt such means as may 
effectuate their mutual freedom, 

" I am, Sir, your most obedient servant, etc., 

" John Dyson." 

" I have written and shall send two copies of Mme. 
Lafayette's letter, lest by some accident one of them 
should miscarry." 

With her heart in her words, appealing for the lib- 
erty of her husband, Adrienne writes : 

" Chavinac pres Brioude, departement 
DE la Haute-Loire, 

" October 8, 1792. 

" Sir: Without doubt you have heard of our mis- 
fortunes. You know that your disciple, your friend, 
has not ceased to act in a manner worthy of you and 
of Liberty. You know that his unalterable attachment 
to the Constitution which he swore to maintain, drew 
upon him the hatred of a powerful faction which wished 
to destroy it; that, proscribed by this faction and ac- 
cused at the head of his Army, he, wishing to avoid 
adding a new crime to his citizens, withdrew himself 
from the sanguinary fury which pursued the courage- 
ous friends of Liberty, and was already on his way to 
a neutral country, from whence he intended to go 
among you and offer up his wishes that his ungrateful 
country might find defenders who would serve it with 
as much zeal, disinterestedness , and love of liberty as 
he himself. 

" His wish was that I should go with all our family 
to join him in England, that we might go and establish 
ourselves together in America, and there enjoy the con- 
soling sights of virtue worthy of liberty, but before he 
arrived at his desired point, and even before he reached 
a neutral country, it was necessary for him to cross a 
small corner of the enemy's territory. There he was 
met and taken prisoner on the 23d of August. He is 

178 



^nb i^er f amilp 

yet in their hands. He was at first carried to Namur, 
then to Nivelle, from thence to Luxembourg, from 
thence I learnt by the public papers that on the 6th 
Sept. they carried him to Wesel, a city of Westphalia 
under the dominion of the King of Austria, and that 
there they separated him from those members of the 
Constituent Assembly who had been partakers of his 
lot, and carried him alone to the Citadel of Spandau, 
between Berlin and Potsdam. The motives, the de- 
signs of such strange and cruel conduct on the part of 
his enemies are too deep for me to fathom. They have 
not permitted him to write me a line. He was taken 
by the troops of the Emperor, altho' it is the King of 
Prussia who retains him a prisoner in his dominions. 
And still he suffers the inconceivable persecution from 
all his enemies without — the faction which reigns within 
keeps me a hostage at 120 leagues from the Capital 
— judge then at what distance I am from him. In this 
abyss of grief, the idea of owing to the United States 
and to M. Washington the life and liberty of M. de 
Lafayette, reanimates my heart with some hope. I 
hope everything from the goodness of a people with 
whom he has set an example of that liberty of which 
he is now the victim — and shall I speak what I hope? 
I would ask of them, through you, an envoy who shall 
go to reclaim him in the name of the Republic of the 
United States, wheresoever he may be retained, and who 
may make, in their name, with whosoever power he 
may be, the necessary arrangements to emancipate him 
from his captivity and carry him to their bosoms. If 
his wife and his children could be comprised in this 
happy mission, it is easy to judge how sweet it would 
be to her and to them, but if this would retard or em- 
barrass in any degree its progress or success, we will 
defer yet longer the happiness of a reunion, and, when 
he shall be near you, we will bear the grief of separa- 
tion with more courage. 

" May heaven deign to bless the confidence with 

179 



Sl^atiame tie Hafapette 

which it has inspired me. I hope my request is not 
rash. Accept the homage of the sentiments that have 
dictated this letter to me, as well as that of attachment 
and tender respect with which I am, 

" Your very humble and obedient servant, 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

In her unhappy situation, under the strict surveil- 
lance of enemies, uncertain as to the fate of her hus- 
band, reduced almost to absolute poverty, Mme. de 
Lafayette anxiously awaited a reply. 

In feverish expectancy passed the months at Cha- 
vinac. The everyday life went on, as to routine, but 
the harrowing anxiety which weighed down the spirit 
of Adrienne could not but be felt by the household, 
try as she might to spare others much of the great bur- 
den of sorrow under which she laboured. Despite these 
terrible trials, the unselfish woman never failed in her 
duties toward her children, managing to spend part of 
every day in their society, and to give her attention 
to their much-interrupted education. This time was 
usually passed in reading aloud to the two girls, and in 
after life Virginie speaks with the deepest pleasure of 
these hours spent in the old garden, or, on wet or stormy 
days, in a corner of the great hall, where the hours 
sped all too swiftly, listening to the gentle voice of the 
devoted reader. Always unselfish, she urged the chil- 
dren to amuse themselves, even joining in their simple 
games, not wishing that their youth should be too 
deeply shadowed by the great sorrows and fearful 
events of which tidings came daily. Autumn passed, 
then the dreary days of winter dragged their length; 
spring once more seemed to augur that perhaps the 
worst was over, but still there was no answer to her 
appeal, and, believing that her letter must have mis- 
carried, for, poor woman! had not this been the fate 
of those she wrote in her girlish days to her young hus- 
band, she wrote again on March 13, 1793, on receiv- 

180 



^nti i|et f amiip 

ing the news that Washington had a second time been 
elected to the Presidency of the United States, on whose 
good will she built so many hopes. She begins by con- 
gratulating him on this event, saying that : 

" The gazettes have announced to me that you have 
a second time been chosen President of the United 
States, and this good news a little revives my courage, 
which the silence of your nation put to a new and severe 
test." Mme. de Lafayette then alludes to the inex- 
plicable fact that she has heard absolutely nothing of 
any attempt to aid her husband, nor of any demonstra- 
tions on the part of his American friends. 

" I had the honour to write to you, Monsieur, on 
the 8th October, 1792, when I was myself detained a 
captive in France by order of the Committee which gov- 
erned the faction, who after commanding me to Paris 
about the time of the massacres, granted, nevertheless, 
to the administration of the Departement where I 
dwelt, permission to guard me themselves under the 
responsibility of the Municipality of my village," she 
continues. " It was from thence I had the consolation 
of writing to you ; I dared not sign my letter, nor even 
write it with my own hand. A young loyalist farmer " 
(M. Dyson), "who had passed some time with us in 
our retreat, took charge of it to address a copy of it 
to you and to certify it. Has this letter reached you? 
Was it necessary to excite your interest? I cannot be- 
lieve it. But I confess to you. Monsieur, that your 
abandonment of M. de Lafayette in all these evils, and 
your silence during the last six months is inexplicable 
to me. I hope it will not continue forever, and if I 
am ever to see his face again, to be reunited to him, 
the hope of accomplishing it still rests upon your good- 
ness and that of the states he helped to found." 

She concludes the letter by speaking of the new laws 
forbidding emigration, and those already in force con- 
cerning confiscation, explaining the reasons which pre- 
vent Mr leaving France, and some details relating to 

181 



£)^dtiame tic Eafa|iette 

her personal property, and the estate of her husband 
and children. The heavy losses which her family, in 
common with that of other nobles had suffered, grieved 
her little, for she was a woman to whom wealth was 
not a fetish, and counted as the least of her misfor- 
tunes. Her sole anxiety was to better the condition of 
her husband and his companions. " But I can do noth- 
ing for him," she concludes. " I can neither receive a 
line from, nor convey one to him, such is the manner in 
which I am treated; but I shall take no step unworthy 
of him whom I love, nor of the cause of liberty, to 
which he would have been faithful. ... I shall add 
no more, at present, but I repeat my confidence in M. 
Washington, on whom my whole hope is founded." 

While we know now that Washington had replied 
on March i6th to the first letter of appeal from the 
wife of his devoted comrade-in-arms, it is very evi- 
dent that the unfortunate lady never received the calm, 
non-committal document which, while expressing the 
kindest sentiments, pledged the writer to nothing. He 
also wrote previously, placing to her credit 200 guineas 
at a bank in Amsterdam ; but in the condition of France 
at the moment, she probably never received the money, 
or she would, without doubt, have thanked the donor. 

In the matter of his conduct In this instance toward 
the Lafayette family, Washington does not appear in 
the best light. Admitting he did not want to embroil 
the United States with the powers of Europe, it Is not 
likely that an official intimation to the effect that he 
wished to bring about the release of his friend would 
have turned Europe topsy-turvy. Washington was a 
man highly esteemed and respected by the sovereigns 
and statesmen of his day, but It Is making too much 
of the point to think that, had he shared In the uni- 
versal sentiment of his fellow-citizens in their wish to 
effect the freedom of the man who had done so much 
for their country, Europe would have been convulsed. 
In the year 1792-93 the United States of America did 

182 



^nb ^tt f amilp 

not represent what that nation stands for to-day. The 
country was poor, drained by the wars, torn by fac- 
tions; there was an infant navy, and the army, what 
there was of it, was not in a condition to awe or appall 
those who kept Lafayette prisoner. George Wash- 
ington could gracefully, and without fear of any dire 
result, have asked, demanded, the release of Lafay- 
ette, and, had the demand been replied to negatively, 
there would have been no upheaval of diplomatic rela- 
tions, no declaration of war. In summing up the con- 
duct of Washington in this matter, one is forced to be- 
lieve that, like many men who have " achieved " or 
had greatness " thrust upon them," the " Father of his 
Country " had arrived at that pitch of sublime impor- 
tance where he considered every act of his to mean as 
much to the world at large as it did to those surround- 
ing him. 

To Mme. de Lafayette he wrote, on June 13, 1793 : 

" Madame : While I acknowledge the receipt of 
your letter of the 13th March, I can with the greatest 
truth assure you that I feel as sincere sympathy in your 
afflictions on account of M. de la Lafayette, and to shew 
you that I have not been unmindful of your condition, 
and how earnestly I have been disposed to alleviate 
your sufferings, as far as it is in my power, I enclose 
you duplicates of two letters which I had the honour of 
writing to you on the 31st of January & i6th of 
March. To those I can only add my most ardent 
prayers that you may again be united to M. de la Fa- 
yette, under circumstances that may be joyful to you 
both; & that the evening of that life whose morning 
has been devoted to the cause of liberty and humanity, 
may be crowned with the best of heaven's blessings. 

" With sentiments of sincere attachment to yourself 
and your dear offspring, 

" I am, &c., 
(signed) " Go. Washington." 

183 



!3r^atiame lie fefapette 

This note was enclosed In a letter to Gouverneur 
Morris, the American minister, then living at Paris, 
in which Washington directs him to forward the en- 
closed packet, " For Mme. de Lafayette, which con- 
tains duplicates of letters which I have written in an- 
swer to hers, & which I will thank you to convey to 
her by as safe an opportunity as can be met with, and 
even if that opportunity should be a late one, it would 
be better than to trust it to uncertain conveyance." So 
it would seem as if the President was not in the habit 
of sending his letters under cover of the American min- 
ister, which was about the only way to convey missives 
in safety at that instant. Doubtless this accounts for 
the non-arrival of the former letters sent to Mme. de 
Lafayette. 

When all the correspondence relating to the matter 
is impartially weighed, it shows but too plainly that 
Washington's conduct was ultra-conservative. Though 
he made some feeble unofficial efforts in behalf of La- 
fayette, not a word in any of his letters shows that he 
took a single step toward effecting the freedom of the 
prisoner at Chavinac. He made no appeal, official or 
otherwise, to the French Government in behalf of 
Mme. de Lafayette. He placed 200 guineas to her 
credit — money which her husband had advanced dur- 
ing the Revolution — and let the matter rest at that. 
No very friendly tribute to the wife of America's great 
friend! and that when the whole American nation, 
aroused by the sufferings of Lafayette, stirred by the 
feeble and ineffective efforts of their Government, loudly 
demanded some definite action ! 

The letters sent to M. Roland had been carried by 
one M. Beauchet, a very worthy man, a commis a la 
liquidation^ the husband of one of Mme. de Lafayette's 
" women," who, besides holding that position, was a 
dear trusted friend and confidant. The letter which he 
brought from M. Roland was as follows: 

184 



^nti i^er f amiip 

" I have put, Madame," he wrote, " your touching 
request under the eyes of the Committee. I must, 
nevertheless, observe that it would seem to me impru- 
dent for a person bearing your name to travel through 
France, on account of the unpleasant impression which 
is at the present moment attached to it. But circum- 
stances may alter. I advise you to wait, and shall be 
the first to seize a favourable opportunity." 

The messenger said that M. Roland had seemed 
moved by the letter sent to him, and he had been received 
politely, and with reserve by M. Brissot, who, though 
guarded in his expressions, had " wished that it might 
become possible to leave the Citoyenne Lafayette a 
Vindustrie du sentiment qui Vanimaity Cheered by 
this passing hope, she at once answered M. Roland's 
letter : 

" I return thanks. Sir, for the ray of hope with 
which you have brightened my heart so long unaccus- 
tomed to that feeling. Nothing can add to what I owe 
to my parole and to the Administrateurs who rely upon 
it. No degree of misfortune could ever make me think 
of breaking my word, but your letter renders that duty 
a little more supportable, and I already begin to feel 
something of that gratitude I promised you If, deliv- 
ered through your hands, I were restored to the object 
of my affections and to the happiness of offering him 
some consolation. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

The whereabouts of Lafayette, at this time, were 
very difficult to ascertain. At the advice of M. Beau- 
chet she wrote to the Duke of Brunswick, entreating 
the General of the Allied Armies of the Coalition to 
send her some information as to the destination of her 
husband. This unsealed letter was sent in a note to the 
Minister of War, M. Servan, the following being a 
copy: 

185 



0^atiame be Hafapette 

" Sir : I have not the honour of being known to 
you, nor have I that of being sufficiently acquainted 
with you to be aware of what right innocence and mis- 
fortune have in your eyes. It is now three months 
since I have heard anything of my husband, who is a 
prisoner of the enemies of France. It is not my in- 
tention at present to set forth his rights to the interest 
and esteem of his fellow-citizens. How could a wom- 
an's tears gain that which the whole life of the most 
incorruptible upholder of liberty has not succeeded In 
obtaining? But I claim my personal rights to your 
compassion, and I implore you to kindly send this un- 
sealed note to the Generalissimo of the allied armies. 

" The importance I attach to your doing me this 
good office ensures my gratitude. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

The letter never received an answer, and if It ever 
reached the Duke of Brunswick is a matter of conjec- 
ture. Shortly after this she was advised by M. Beau- 
chet, who had been instrumental in sending the last 
letter, to write to the King of Prussia, asking him to 
release her husband. She received the draft of a 
letter, suitable for the purpose, from Mr. Morris, the 
American minister, but finding its wording too humble 
and self-abasing, refused to copy and sign it. This 
letter, being found in Mr, Morris's papers after his 
death, has always — erroneously — been ascribed to 
Mme. de Lafayette. 

Paris, November 7, 1792. 

" My dear Madame : I need not tell you why the 
enclosed paper is transmitted to you. I know not the 
titles of the King of Prussia, these should be properly 
placed, you know, because monarchs are very sensitive 
on that subject. If reports speak true, His Majesty Is 
more likely to listen to a woman than to a man, and 
this is favourable ; but what would be still more advan- 

186 



^nti ^n f amilp 

tageous, would be to have your letter presented by the 
favourite of the day. I am told that Mme. de Gulche 
has lately received his admirations. If you were to 
plead your cause in a court of Justice, it might be well 
to insist on the rights of our unfortunate friend, but 
as the person to whom you address yourself is both 
judge and party, the matter of right must be touched 
with great gentleness. 

" Be of good courage, for sooner or later the pres- 
ent clouds will be dissipated. All human things are 
liable to change. You will remember I used to incul- 
cate that maxim when things were smiling. It was then 
true, and it is still true. But then it was unpleasant, 
and now it will afford consolation. Farewell, my dear 
Madame. It will give me sincere pleasure to be useful 
to you and yours. 

" GOUVERNEUR MORRIS." 

Mme. de Lafayette had decided ideas of her own 
as to the necessary amount of humility requisite in ad- 
dressing a monarch, even when the letter was one beg- 
ging a favour — and a favour which was almost a matter 
of life and death to her. At this moment the Emperor 
Frederick " still pretended to possess " the quality of 
integrity, to which virtue the tactful pen of Adrienne 
did not fail to appeal, though, unfortunately, later 
events proved his Majesty of Prussia decidedly lacking 
in this and other kingly attributes. 

" Sire ; Your Majesty's well-known integrity ad- 
mits of M. de Lafayette's wife addressing herself to 
you without forgetting what she owes to her husband's 
character. I have always hoped. Sire, that your Maj- 
esty would respect virtue, wherever it was to be found, 
and thereby give Europe a glorious example. It is 
now five long and dreadful months since last I heard 
anything of M. de Lafayette, so I cannot plead his 
cause. But it seems to me that both his enemies and 

187 



Hl^atiame tie Hafapette 

myself speak eloquently in his favour; they by their 
crimes, I by the violence of my despair. They prove 
his virtue, and how much he is feared by the wicked; 
I show how worthy he is of being loved. They make 
it a necessity for your Majesty's glory not to have an 
object of persecution in common with them. Shall I 
be fortunate enough to give you the occasion of restor- 
ing me to life by delivering him? 

Allow me. Sire, to indulge in that hope as in the 
one of soon owing you this debt of gratitude. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

This letter was carried by M. Beauchet, whose 
comings and goings kept the isolated women in touch 
with the world, it being as much as life was worth to 
write or receive letters at this time, the danger of hav- 
ing them fall into the wrong hands being too strong 
to risk writing, unless on the most urgent affairs. M. 
Beauchet, on one of his visits, managed to see Mme. 
d'Ayen and Louise de Noailles, and to bring many mes- 
sages of comfort and cheer to the prisoner at Chavinac. 
The most terrible punishment which could have been 
planned and inflicted on Adrienne de Lafayette by her 
enemies was this enforced deprivation of the society 
and companionship of her near and dearly loved rela- 
tives; the separation almost broke her heart; added to 
which she never knew from one day to another what 
misfortune might befall them; they might, even now, 
have ceased to live. Almost directly after the depar- 
ture of M. Beauchet with her letter to the King of 
Prussia, news came of the condemnation and execution 
of Louis XVL These tidings produced a fearful effect 
on the inhabitants of the country, and the aunt, niece, 
children, servants, all were numbed by the terrible blow. 
To the superstitious peasants it seemed that the end of the 
world must come when the sacrilegious hand of the exe- 
cutioner touched the person of the Lord's anointed. To 
those less superstitious, but more far seeing, it brought 



home with unbearable clearness the thought of what 
might come next ! They hoped, they prayed; with each 
dawn their hearts beat heavily at the fear that ere night 
would come the awful tidings of the sacrifice of some 
one dearly loved. Hoof beats sounding along the road 
would drive the blood from cheeks which personal fear 
had never blanched. They lived upon the brink of a 
frightful crater; there was nothing left but to wait, to 
hope and pray. 



189 



CHAPTER XIV 

THANKS to the efforts of M. Roland, Mme. 
de Lafayette's liberty was conditionally re- 
stored to her about the middle of September, 
1792. Though free nominally, she was, 
with all the ci-devant nobles, under a close surveillance, 
not being permitted to leave the " Departement " with- 
out first obtaining permission from those in authority. 
Being no longer on parole, she felt in a measure more 
free, and, making the best of things, hoped for her un- 
restricted liberty ere long. 

Chief of her many anxieties at this time was the 
desire to get her son safely out of the country. Owing 
to a letter from his tutor, written at Bordeaux some 
time previously, she believed that he with his charge 
had succeeded in embarking safely for England, as had 
been arranged, and that they were at this time beyond 
harm's way. This, unfortunately, was not the case. 
At the last moment, when all their plans were per- 
fected, so many obstacles intervened that M. Frestel 
had given up in despair, and, taking George with him, 
gone to some relatives in Normandy, there to await 
a more favourable opportunity by which he might ac- 
complish the original purpose. 

To the many sorrows of the devoted mother, whose 
heart ached at the thought of her boy being sent so far 
across the seas, was added the pitiful sight of the un- 
controllable grief displayed by her aunt, who had man- 
aged to become acquainted with the design of sending 
her grandnephew to America : a plan which it had been 
the intention of Mme. de Lafayette to leave the old 

190 



a^atiame He Hlafapette anb l$tt f amilp 

lady uninformed of, as her age and the precarious con- 
dition of her health made it imperative she should be 
spared all undue excitement and worry. The poor old 
lady mourned the child as one already dead, and the 
subject became so intensely painful to her and to the 
boy's mother that by tacit consent it was omitted from 
the daily conversation. 

Financial affairs also kept Mme. de Lafayette in 
the country, as she wished to settle some small claims 
with the creditors of her husband; debts for which, 
practically, the creditors had no written claim or bond. 
Lafayette's property had been united with that of his 
aunt, and as soon as the faithful wife was free to come 
and go, she took these matters in hand, proceeding im- 
mediately to the " Departement," where she made a dec- 
laration of her husband's rights upon her arrival. 
Having possessed, at the time of her marriage, a for- 
tune of 200,000 livres — her personal property — she 
arranged that the interest of what was owed to her 
should be taken from her husband's estate. She was 
unable, however, to persuade the Administration to act 
in obedience to the law, which, still in force, left them 
the power to pay debts with sequestered property. On 
each and every one of her appearances before the " De- 
partement," Adrienne invariably began by protesting 
against the injustice of having applied to her husband 
the law concerning emigres, as he had not left France 
voluntarily, but was sent away as a prisoner, detained 
against his will in defiance of all laws of right or jus- 
tice by the enemies of his country in a foreign state. 
Her lawyer, M. Marthory, would then explain and dis- 
cuss the matter technically. A great sudden joy, the 
unexpected return of her son at this moment, afforded 
her more happiness than she had experienced for many 
weary months. The mother could not nerve herself 
for another parting — not just then. George was ac- 
companied by M. Frestel, who declared himself ready, 
eager, and willing to undertake a second attempt, as 

191 



i^atiame tie Eafapette 

soon as Mme. de Lafayette might desire. He ex- 
plained to her the numerous obstacles, petty annoyances, 
and adventures which had been theirs on that eventful 
journey to Bordeaux, and had at last prevented their 
departure from France. 

Placing, as she did, an utter trust and confidence In 
the young man, Mme. de Lafayette accepted his re- 
spectfully expressed opinion that, at the present mo- 
ment, it would not be wise or judicious to attempt 
another escape from the country. Though they had, in 
this instance, come through many dangers unscathed, 
luck might not favour them a -second time, and the 
enemies of Lafayette were so numerous that the boy 
ran far more peril than the son of an ordinary ci-devant 
noble would have done. The all-powerful Jacobins 
had their spies, hosts of them In all parts of France, 
and would not fail to be informed of the fact If George 
left Chavlnac. He was but a child, and, at the mo- 
ment, ran no particular risk; If anything unexpected 
happened, there were places in the neighbourhood 
where he could lie for days concealed. Eager to be 
convinced, Mme. de Lafayette finally, after deep 
thought, agreed In the opinion of her adviser. For the 
present George was to remain at Chavlnac, greatly to 
the joy of his aunt, who, old though she was, retained 
spirit enough to turn out, sword In hand, and fight those 
who came to molest the apple of her eye — the heir of 
the Lafayettes ! 

The faithful wife was ever on the qui vive to do 
anything, even the smallest trifle, which might be of 
service to M. de Lafayette and the other prisoners. 
About this time she saw one or two letters written by 
the celebrated Klopstock in a newspaper, the trend of 
which was so favourable to her husband that she at once 
wrote to the author, sending the letter privately by 
some Italian plasterers who were returning home. She 
sent, at the same time, a letter to the Princess of Or- 
ange, written at the suggestion of Mr. Morris. This 

192 



she did most reluctantly, because of the connection of 
her husband, in 1787, with the Dutch patriots. Sym- 
pathy comes from the most unexpected places, and the 
princess replied kindly, politely, and without promising 
anything, encouraged and reanimated her hopes. She 
wrote also to M. Lucchesni, but received no reply. 

At the end of March the order was given for the 
examination of all papers belonging to the ci-devant 
nobles. This was in consequence of the defaction of 
Dumouriez. Nothing objectionable to the " Departe- 
ment " was found at Chavinac. The representant, Jean 
Baptiste Lacoste, personally distributing his pamphlets, 
in which much was said against Lafayette and the Gi- 
rondists, now appeared on the scene. He was heard 
to say at Aurat that Mme. de Lafayette should be ar- 
rested. At Le Puy he had ordered the execution of two 
young men, solely because they had refused to submit 
to the requisition. 

Mme. de Lafayette, on the advice of her friends, 
thought it prudent to anticipate the acts of this gentle- 
man, and went to meet him at Brioude. He received 
her with politeness. 

*' I have heard, monsieur," she said, after the first 
greeting, " that it is contemplated to have all the nobles 
impressed on the occasion of M. Dumouriez's defac- 
tion. I declare that I have always said how gladly I 
should go security for M. de Lafayette. I am by no 
means prepared to do so for his enemies. Besides, it 
is equally indifferent to M. Dumouriez whether I live 
or die ; it would be far better to leave me in my retreat. 
Those who last expelled me from it only excited pity 
in my favour, and brought back to people's minds many 
acts of injustice. I ask to be left with my children in 
the only situation which can be bearable to me so 
long as their father remains the captive of France's 
enemies." 

" Citoyenne,^^ answered Lacoste, " such feelings 
are worthy of you." 

193 



i^atiame tie HLafapette 

" I care little," she replied, " to know whether they 
are worthy of me; I only wish they should be worthy 
of him." 

Lacoste, in a " soft insinuating voice " told her that 
the Government was shortly to issue a decree forbid- 
ding the ci-devant nobles to meet or converse in a num- 
ber or group containing more than three people. This 
order was never issued in that " Departement," though 
in force at Ardeche then and later. 

Calamity followed calamity. The affairs of un- 
happy France grew daily, hourly worse, and the perse- 
cution of these miserable priests in the various de- 
partements was unequalled in ferocity and persistence. 
Several were killed at Le Puy and Brioude, among those 
seized on suspicion being the cure of Chavinac. 
Quickly was the news of this misfortune communi- 
cated to Mme. de Lafayette. Without an instant's 
hesitation, she sent a mounted messenger to M. Mont- 
fleury, who had more than once told her " that if 
ever she sent him an unfortunate person to save, she 
would have a right to his zeal and gratitude." In in- 
numerable ways had this large-hearted man shown him- 
self her friend, by the unfailing interest and courage 
he displayed in defending her rights before those 
who endeavoured to intensify the misery and anxieties 
of her daily life tenfold by their unwearying perse- 
cutions. 

The trial of the cure was held before a jury of the 
peasants of Aurat. These bucolic individuals, whose 
minds were of the consistency and calibre of the tur- 
nips dear to their appetites, were dominated, unknown 
to themselves, by M. Guitandry, the maire and surgeon 
of the little community. The latter was a sincere friend 
of Mme. de Lafayette, and one of the few who had not 
lived beyond the remembrance of the many favours 
which he, and those before him, had received from the 
Sieurs Lafayette, the feudal lords of the manor. By 
his strong personality and influence over the minds of 

194 



^nti ^tt f amxlp 

the peasant jurymen, M. Guitandry succeeded in ob- 
taining a verdict in favour of the cure, but so favour- 
able that there was no one in Brioude courageous 
enough to execute it. 

Well knowing the nature and spirit of the people 
with whom she had to deal, Mme. de Lafayette, with- 
out losing an instant, started for Brioude, where, on her 
arrival, she found the case taking an utterly different 
and most unfavourable turn. It was almost lost, hav- 
ing, in fact, gone so far that the friends of the cure 
had all agreed on forcing him to take the oath to the 
Constitution, as this seemed to be the only way to save 
his life. Every one was frightened, sullen, indifferent, 
or ill-disposed. It had been decided to refer the matter 
to the " Departement." Knowing that should this hap- 
pen her cure was lost, Mme. de Lafayette cleverly 
managed to delay the messenger. Being a woman of 
great resource and eloquence, she talked to those coun- 
try bumpkins with such tact, energy, and affability, such 
forceful rhetoric, that some were intimidated, abashed, 
and the majority indifferent, since the trial was but one 
of many and had lost novelty. She won the day, and 
the cure was allowed to depart in peace. But those 
over whom she had gained this triumph neither forgot 
nor forgave the fearless woman. It was recorded 
against her, and in the more frightful times to follow 
her bold conduct in regard to this matter was one of 
the gravest and most damaging charges which she had 
to face. 

While all this was taking place at Chavinac, the 
party of the most extreme Terrorists had gained such a 
following, and swept all opposition away with such ruth- 
less vengeance, that France lay at its mercy. There 
was no law, no protection for life or property. From 
the highest to the lowest, the most famous to the hum- 
ble peasant, each and every one was in fear of that 
fearful tribunal, to appear before which meant but one 
verdict — death. For the moment the party in power 

195 



Sl^atiame txt Eafapette 

effected little change in the troubled affairs of the La- 
fayettes, save that of causing the outlook for the 
future to be more gloomy and even less promising than 
it had been a short while ago. Things had come to a 
point where no human power could be of avail against 
the rulers of France. 

At last, as summer began to dawn, and the mere 
appearance of the world offered some slight hope of 
better things, when fair days followed one after the 
other, soothing in their comforting monotony — a 
ragged peasant appeared at Chavinac. So shabby 
was he, so weather-stained and unprepossessing, that 
the few domestics remaining of a once princely house- 
hold hesitated to admit him to their mistress's pres- 
ence. Finally, the return of the chatelaine from some 
errand of mercy interrupted the discussion. She de- 
manded his name; what he wanted. The man re- 
spectfully but insistently replied that he must see 
madame alone. At once the ever-present thought in 
her heart told her that here was news of her husband ! 
Unheeding the protests of the servants that madame 
must be careful, there were so many desperate people 
wandering over France, she led the man to a room 
where they would be alone, commanding him, with 
more haste and abruptness than was her wont, to ac- 
quaint her with his errand. 

The man, after some fumbling with the rags form- 
ing his costume, presently produced and handed to 
her a letter, after which, without a word, he left 
the chateau as mysteriously as he had appeared. 
Mme. de Lafayette needed no one to tell her from 
whom came the letter. All the long months of silence 
had reduced her to such a condition of overstrained 
nervousness that her trembling hands could scarcely 
obey the wish to open the sealed paper, soiled from 
its many wanderings, but the first to come to her 
since the news of his imprisonment had reached 
Chavinac. 

196 



^ttti f$tt f amilp 

General Lafayette to the Princess d'Henin. 

Magdebourg, March 15, 1793. 

" I am still alive, my dear Princess, and able to tell 
you so, but these are the only two important facts which 
I am able to tell you. This letter is designed both for 
you and for my wife and children, of whose place of 
residence I am ignorant, and for those of my friends 
to whom you and Mme. de Lafayette shall think proper 
to communicate it. 

" You have been informed of all that has happened 
to us from the time of the fatal encounter at Rochefort 
till given up by Austria to Prussia, we were transported 
to Wesel, You must have learnt some particulars re- 
specting our captivity in that citadel. It would require 
a very long account to inform you of all the precau- 
tions that were devised to cut off every communication 
between us and the rest of the world, to retain us in 
our prison, to watch us closely, and to multiply our 
privations. 

" Lameth was dying for several weeks; I suffered 
very much in my lungs and nerves from fever and want 
of sleep; our two other companions suffered also; and, 
as the King of Prussia had again prohibited us from 
taking fresh air, although the physician thought it 
necessary; as it has been signified to Maubourg, who 
was by an accident apprised of my condition, that even 
on the bed of death we should not see each other ; and, 
as the Commandant was responsible with his head for 
his vigilance, we were glad to hear of our removal, which 
would reunite us for some time, and which, by enabling 
us to respire fresh air, would greatly contribute to re- 
establish our health. 

" Our passage through Germany, whatever may 
have been the original intention, was most highly hon- 
ourable to the martyrs of a glorious cause, and has not 
a little contributed to excite towards us a flattering 
interest, and ideas very different from those which were 

197 



0^atiame ttt Slafapette 

anticipated. The observations that were made respect- 
ing the last sixteen years of my life, the state of things 
on this side of the Rhine, and the four captives, did not 
appear to me during our journey to indicate anything 
that could alarm me. 

" And now I will present you with a description of 
my prison and my manner of life. 

" Represent to yourself an opening made in the 
rampart of the Citadel, and encompassed with a high 
and strong palisade. It is by that passage, by entering 
successively through four gates, each one of which is 
armed with chains, locks, and bars of iron, you may 
reach, not without difficulty and noise, my cell. This 
cell is three paces broad and five and a half long, con- 
taining no other ornament than two French verses 
which rhyme with the words to suffer and to die {souf- 
frir et mourir) . The wall next to the ditch is dripping 
with moisture, and that opposite permits the light of 
day, but not the rays of the sun, to enter through a small 
but closely grated window. Imagine also, two sentinels 
whose eyes constantly penetrate my subterranean abode, 
but from beyond the palisades in order to prevent our 
speaking to one another, spies are set over us distinct 
from the guard; and in addition to this the walls, the 
ramparts, the ditches, and the guards within and with- 
out the citadel of Magdebourg, and you will see, my 
dear Princess, that the foreign powers neglect nothing 
to keep me in their dominions. 

" The clanking of my four doors is renewed each 
morning, when they are opened to admit my domestic; 
again at dinner, when I eat in presence of the Com- 
mandant of the citadel, and of the guard; and lastly 
at night, to remand my servant to his prison; after 
which, having made fast all the locks, the Commandant 
carries with him the keys into the apartement where, 
since my arrival, the King has ordered him to sleep. 

" Books are furnished me from which all the white 
leaves have been torn out, but I have no news, no ga- 

198 



9lnti i$tt f amilp 

zettes, no communication, neither ink, nor pen, nor pen- 
cil ; and it is by a miracle I possess this sheet, on which 
I write to you with a tooth pick. 

"My health declines ; my physical has almost as much 
need of liberty as my moral constitution. The small 
quantity of air which reaches me in this subterranean 
cell affords little relief to my lungs ; I am often afflicted 
with fever; I have no exercise and little sleep; yet I 
make no complaint, knowing by experience how useless 
it would be. But I am tenacious of my life and my 
friends may be assured of the active concurrence of all 
sentiments which lead me to value the preservation of 
my existence, although, considering my situation and 
the progress of rhy suffering, I cannot much longer an- 
swer for their efficacy. Perhaps it is better to preserve 
them in this manner, than to surprise them hereafter 
with the worst. 

" The accounts I have given you will serve also for 
my three companions, whose situation is similar. I 
doubt if Lameth will long hold out; he was dying at 
Wesel, and is but little better here. M. de Pusy suffers 
much, though he is less ill. The same may be said 
of Maubourg, whose cell is situated on the same sub- 
terranean corridor with mine, and, as in order to pre- 
vent me suffocating at once, they open the two inmost 
of my four gates a few hours before dinner, I am some- 
times able, on the unbarring of his doors, and in the 
presence of the Commandant, to observe with much 
pain that his appearance is greatly changed. Whatever 
care they may have taken to tantalise us by the depri- 
vation of news, we have at length obtained news of the 
success of the French Armies, the mismanagement of 
public affairs, the assassination of the King, in which 
all laws of humanity, of justice, and of national com- 
pact have been trampled underfoot, and the abominable 
murder of my virtuous friend. La Rochefoucauld; but 
all information respecting my wife and children, and 
my other friends, has been so completely intercepted, 

199 



iSi^atiame tic 3tafapette 

with the exception of a few words from Damas at the 
time of our singular meeting at Ham, that I am in the 
most painful state of anxiety as to the state of all that 
is most dear to me. If it were true, as they take pains 
to tell me, but which I cannot believe, that all who do 
not abjure the principles of the Declaration of Rights 
must leave England, my family cannot live there. 

" Ten thousand florins have been deposited here on 
the part of the United States, which sum will prevent 
me, when my money is exhausted, from living on bread 
and water; but though my American friends are more 
occupied concerning my liberty than my sustenance, I 
have not heard anything further. I know that the 
Prince of Coburg has a great success against the dis- 
persed detachments of Dumouriez, yet, in the midst of 
the strifes of anarchy, and of so many hostile attacks, 
liberty, in spite of all her enemies, will not perish. 

" This letter will reach you by way of Hamburg, 
but I know not through what channel. If any Ameri- 
can should be there, it will be forwarded through him. 
I beg you to pay whatever is necessary, and to send 
letters in return. As I am ignorant what precautions 
will be taken, and only request you to avoid the post 
offices, both in England and elsewhere, it will remain 
with the bearers, with you, and the friends to whom 
Lameth may write, to arrange this matter. But you 
will conceive with what anxiety I wait for letters from 
my family and from you. I recommend, however, an 
inviolable discretion on which depends the fortune and 
life of any person who, being under the rule of these 
governments, shall have rendered us any service; and 
the fear of compromising them makes me weigh every 
word with circumspection, from which I flatter myself 
you will not Infer any diminution of my fortitude. 

" You will easily conceive how ardently we sigh for 
our resurrection from this tomb. It was neither just 
nor politic to arrest us, nor is It just or politic to retain 
us. This we have once represented; our friends may 

200 



EntJ ^tt f amilp 

often directly or indirectly repeat it. This slow death 
is dreadful to us, and, without enquiring to whom it 
can give joy, I should be extremely glad if you could 
extricate us from it. Communicate to the family of 
Pusy and of Maubourg, who are in France, this intelli- 
gence concerning my two companions. Send us infor- 
mation of them, and in London see the friends of La- 
meth. They have each a servant, and I have two; one 
of whom, Felix, has been put into a separate cell, and 
the other, a native of Chavinac, waits on me. We 
wish their families to know that they are not dead. 

" If you know my Aunt, judge how anxious I am 
concerning her health. I embrace my wife and my chil- 
dren. Adieu, my dear Princess, a thousand kindnesses 
to my friends; you know mine for you. 

" Lafayette." 

" P. S. I know not what disposition has been made 
of my plantation at Cayenne, but I hope that Mme. de 
Lafayette will take care that the negroes who cultivate 
it shall preserve their liberty." 

Eager as Mme. de Lafayette had always been to 
join him and share the discomforts of his prison before 
the arrival of this letter, the desire to do so increased 
tenfold, and at times she felt that she could endure the 
separation no longer. Her wish to pay a few small 
debts, and a great reluctance to leave Mme. de Chavi- 
nac, made her hesitate. At that time the receipt of any 
sort of income had ceased. Everything was, of neces- 
sity, conducted with the strictest economy, and the 
household expenses reduced to a minimum. Hoping 
to be able to arrange her affairs, she wrote to Gouver- 
neur Morris, offering to transfer to him everything of 
which she was possessed if he would undertake the set- 
tlement of these matters — the payment of some trifling 
debts and her aunt's safety. In the " noblest and most 
generous manner " came the answer, offering to fur- 

20I 



iSl^atiame tie 3tafapette 

nish her with whatever sums she might consider neces- 
sary, adding with delicacy, " that he ran no risk in 
doing so, for, if circumstances caused him to lose what 
he had advanced, he knew that the Americans would 
hold themselves responsible." 

These details being satisfactorily arranged, Mme. 
de Lafayette felt once more at ease — that is, as much 
as she could be in the dangerous and difficult position 
she occupied. Her gratitude may be measured by the 
fact that all they had to depend on was the money lent 
by Morris — incomes having vanished with the Divine 
Right of Kings. Another proof of this noble woman's 
intrepid and unselfish nature is shown in the following 
instance. At this period, in consequence of the fearful 
upheaval and the risk they incurred, the wives of many 
of the emigres thought it proper to obtain divorces, be- 
ing able in this way to save their children's fortunes, 
and often to ensure greater safety to themselves. 
Though Mme. de Lafayette liked and esteemed many 
of the persons who took this course of action, the inher- 
ent spirit of religion she possessed, as well as her con- 
science, would not have allowed her to take such a step, 
even had her life depended on so doing. It was dia- 
metrically at variance with her idea of Christian law, 
though merely a matter of form, and served to deceive 
no one. Ever was the great love, the pride, she felt 
for her husband, which made her glory and take pleas- 
ure in being connected in any way with him and the 
cause which he so warmly championed. Though the 
pretended divorce brought safety to many a good and 
truly loving wife, to many a pious mother, there was 
not a petition presented to the Administration by Adri- 
enne de Lafayette, not a paper which this intrepid 
woman did not begin with the daring words: 

" La femme Lafayette." 

The slight hope which the " Aristocrats " had cher- 
ished in the resistance of Lyons was dashed to the 

202 



^nti i^er f amtlp 

ground when the troops of the Republicans laid It low 
with such fearful and unparalleled barbarity in the sum- 
mer of 1793. This swept away the plan which Mme. 
de Lafayette had hitherto cherished, of making her 
way there, and then being able to leave France. The 
sale of M. de Lafayette's property took place soon 
after. His aunt, with her claim, purchased the mill of 
Langeac, which was the first offered for sale. Before 
the auction began, Mme. de Lafayette went to Brioude, 
there to protest before the district. 

" Citoyens,^^ she said, " I feel myself obliged to 
protest, before the sale begins, against the enormous 
injustice of applying the laws of emigration to one who 
Is at this moment a prisoner of the enemies of France. 
I ask you to take note of my protestation." 

The incongruity of their reasoning did not seem 
to strike those excellent gentlemen, who listened to the 
Citoyenne Lafayette with much respect. Some of the 
members proposed to transcribe her protest in the of- 
ficial report. 

" No, citoyens,^'' she said, " you might suffer 
for It, and that would truly grieve me; you must 
not involve yourself into difliculties out of politeness 
when you will not do so to avoid committing an act 
of Injustice. As for me, thank God, I have never been 
accomplice to any; I will not be so in this case by my 
silence, and I ask you to register my protestation in a 
separate note." This they consented to do. 

In spite of the harrowing anxiety, the uncertainty 
of her husband's fate ever oppressing her mind, she 
found time to educate her children, to walk with them, 
talk to, and provide them with simple amusements. Of 
the same pure and lofty type of mind as her mother, 
religion occupied much of the routine of her daily life; 
her conduct set an example to be followed by others. 
Though religious sympathies were more than danger- 
ous, she assembled every Sunday all the poor and pious 
women of the village, and persisted In holding these 

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ar^aHamc tie Hafapette 

meetings, though they had been the object of many de- 
nunciations. She could not be accused of " aristo- 
cratic " leanings, so the changes were rung on her relig- 
ious " fanaticism." 

The decree of September 17, 1793, provided for 
houses of detention in every town, in which were to be 
incarcerated the relations — of whatever degree — of all 
the emigres ; or, to put it simply, every one who did not 
happen to be of the party in power. Committees were 
formed to point out suspects, being composed for the 
main part of the most violent Jacobins. These were 
under the direction of one Solon Reynard, of Le Puy, 
his office of representative gaining him this distinction. 
All the inhabitants hastened to provide themselves with 
the necessary certificates of civism. Mme. de Chavi- 
nac would not allow much to be said about her patriot- 
ism, so, not wanting to have papers which were better 
than hers, Mme. de Lafayette contented herself with a 
very insignificant one, though she could have had a 
much more satisfactory document from the municipal- 
ity of Aurat. Each member of the household pro- 
cured papers, and as they had to be taken to the Revo- 
lutionary Committee for countersigning, Adrienne took 
them to Brioude. Observing the bad feeling, the 
grudging, unwilling manner in which the certificates of 
her servants were approved, she did not present that 
of her aunt nor her own, which she had, with her usual 
unselfishness, kept for the last, fearing that she would 
meet with a refusal should hers be the first to come be- 
fore the committee. When, a few days later, a member 
of the same committee came to Chavinac to burn such 
papers as were — in his opinion — entachees de feodalite 
(tainted with the spirit of feudal times), she beheld his 
proceedings with so much, such well-assumed indiffer- 
ence, that it caused much surprise, and great disappoint- 
ment, in the mind of the commissary. 

Immediately following this incident, the entire coun- 
try was thrown into a great state of excitement and 

204 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

despair. Every one known to have aided in any way 
the family of Lafayette was summarily arrested! 
Nobles, aristocrats, even some of the worthy patriots 
shared this fate. And, on the 21st Brumaire (Novem- 
ber ist) word came that Mme. de Lafayette herself 
was to be arrested the following day! She kept this 
dreadful intelligence to herself, not telling her family 
and servants till the next morning, wishing to spare 
them as long as possible the sorrow this news would 
bring. On the same day all the papers which had been 
condemned, a bust of the late king, also one of Mira- 
beau, and any emblems of royalty still remaining in that 
loyal household, were placed on a cart, the whole des- 
tined to make a huge bonfire for the people to dance 
around. But they were loyal at Chavinac, and refused 
to take part in a fete on the day when Mme. de Lafay- 
ette was arrested. The material was " of necessity " 
conveyed to Aurat, where other sentiments prevailed. 
That evening a detachment of the National Guard of 
Paulhaguet, in charge of a member of the Revolution- 
ary Committee, M. Granchier, came to the chateau. 
Surrounded by those she loved, the order for her arrest 
was read to her. On presenting the certificate of 
civism which she had obtained, she was told that it was 
worthless, not having been countersigned by the com- 
mittee. 

" Citoyen,^^ asked her daughter Anastasie, " are 
daughters prevented from following their mothers?" 

" Yes, mademoiselle," he replied, and seemed 
moved when she insisted that she was sixteen, and 
therefore was included in the law. To change the sub- 
ject, he talked of the many arrests he had made in the 
neighbourhood. He appears to have had a heart for 
one of his day, and allowed Mme. de Lafayette to re- 
main with her family instead of insisting that she should 
pass the night in the church at Aurat, accepting her 
promise to join him before nine in the morning, when 
all the suspected prisoners were to start for Brioude. 

205 



Sr^atiame tic Eafapettc 

As usual, she seemed the least concerned, " comfort- 
ing and keeping up the spirits of all," until amid the 
tears of her servants, the cries, sobs, and clinging arms 
of her children, she left them the next morning — with 
what end to her journey heaven itself dared not predict. 

Though the insufficient gaol at Brioude was 
crowded to suffocation, the new batch of unfortunates 
was at once locked within its grimy walls. Mme. 
de Lafayette found a place in a mean room which 
served as a passageway, and was already occupied by 
three bourgeoises of Brioude. One of them was a 
baker's wife, an honest and pious woman. They made 
room for their illustrious fellow-prisoner with kindness, 
and in a manner which touched her deeply. She was 
thankful for this retreat, having on first entering and 
passing through the prison been treated with much im- 
pertinence by a number of " aristocrat " ladies whom 
she had known before the Revolution, but had not seen 
since. This was not the time to worry over such trifles. 
Presently the " aristocrat " friends of yore fell under 
the charm of her personality, as others had been wont 
to do in happier days. Though the sword of Damocles 
hung over these people, the prison was a veritable hot- 
bed of small coteries, all hating each other fiercely, but 
it is said, " for Mme. de Lafayette every one professed 
attachment." Finding the wisest course for her was 
to escape notice as much as possible — she could do noth- 
ing at the present moment to aid her cause or that of 
her husband — she prudently decided to follow this 
plan. With her usual fearlessness, she would be spokes- 
woman for others, being able, from her superior edu- 
cation and accomplishments, to present the wishes of 
her humble friends more satisfactorily than they could 
do of their own accord. She was always, with one 
exception, listened to with respect and treated politely. 
On this occasion, having suggested the necessity of giv- 
ing more air to an unfortunate woman who was very 
ill and confined in a small room with eleven other per- 

206 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

sons, she was assailed with a torrent of abuse too vile 
to transcribe. The gaolers of Brioude were not noted 
for their love of humanity, or distinguished for those 
humane characteristics beloved of the good and vir- 
tuous of this sphere. They as nearly approached the 
beasts of creation as it is possible for those in human 
guise to do. Given for the first time in their lives a 
little authority, and that over those to whom for cen- v . 
turies they had scarce dared to raise their eyes, there \/ 
was nothing too low, too brutal, too vulgar or humil- 
iating for them to inflict on their unhappy prisoners. 

What a fearful experience for a woman daintily 
reared, of the nicest tastes and hypersensitive refine- 
ment, who since her birth had been surrounded by love 
and luxury ! She had no comforts, she asked no fa- 
vours. Her daughters sent her clean linen every week, 
sewing a list of what the basket contained to the cloth 
covering it. On the back of this paper they wrote the 
scanty news that it was safe to send, a mere line or two 
telling of their health. Strange to say, no one ever 
thought of examining this sheet of paper! The inn- 
keeper's daughter, who brought in the meals and was 
a hardy, courageous child of thirteen, would force her 
way undeterred by blows or threats, to catch a glimpse 
of Mme. de Lafayette, so she could tell the family 
of her looks and health. Through M. Frestel, who 
succeeded in bribing the gaoler, it was found that her 
daughters might be able to pass a few hours with their 
mother. This was effected in January, when she had 
been in prison two months (1794), Anastasie, being 
the first to go, rode to Brioude at night, in the care of 
the faithful Frestel, and arriving there at dawn, hid all 
the following day at the house of an innkeeper who was 
devoted to the family. In the evening she was smug- 
gled into the prison, spending the night in conversation 
with her mother, leaving before daylight for fear of 
discovery. Though brief, this meeting and the ones 
which followed were of great comfort to the prisoner, | 

207 ■ 



sr^atiame tic Hafapctte 

but attended with so much danger to all concerned 
that they took place at intervals few and far be- 
tween. 

The heart of Adrienne was heavy as those long days 
dragged by. Her children were at Chavinac; she was 
with them in spirit, but the lonely mother yearned for 
more. The news brought from Paris told of the arrest 
of her mother and sister Louise on some absurd pre- 
tence. There were no details. Of her husband she 
knew nothing, or of what was passing in the outer 
world; that fearful world of blood and carnage to 
which she would be summoned ere long. Even the 
poor old aunt was arrested in January, 1794. On ac- 
count of her age, they had the surprising humanity to 
allow her to remain at Chavinac. The terrible crime 
of which she was guilty, which had caused her ar- 
rest, lay in the fact that she was the mother of an 
emigre \ Totally indifferent to her arrest, she was 
struck with the word " mother " as the commissary read 
the order. 

" Citoyen,^^ she answered, " I have no longer the 
happiness of being a mother! " and she burst into 
bitter tears at the memory of her daughter, whose 
loss, sixteen years ago, she had never ceased to 
mourn. 

Being informed that the sale of her husband's prop- 
erty was about to be resumed, Mme. de Lafayette 
begged permission to be present, under a guard if the 
committee so desired. This request being presented by 
M. Frestel to the president, Reynaud, at Le Puy, was 
received with little consideration. He was obliged to 
summon all his self-control and listen to a torrent of 
abuse against M. de Lafayette. The humane M. Rey- 
naud stormed violently at the absent patriot, " whose 
bowels he should like to tear out ^^ ; against Mme. de 
Lafayette, who was accused of being " the arrogance 
of the Noailles personified " ; against the harmless and 
innocent children, who were " serpents the Republic 

208 



nurtured in her bosom.^^ He naturally refused the 
request, and M. Frestel returned unsuccessful, his heart 
heavy and full of foreboding. This eloquent and re- 
fined ( ?) representative of the Republic, M. Reynaud, 
went shortly to Paris, where his presence did infinitely 
more harm to the Lafayette family than could Solon 
Reynaud have effected had he remained in the country. 
His successor, Guyardin, was less violent, but so im- 
bued with the charms of republican simplicity that he 
constantly wore a boutonniere composed of a large 
wooden spoon and knife ! It may have been that his 
hunger drove him to this flamboyant exhibition of pa- 
triotism, as, thus equipped, he was always in a position 
to " fall to ! " at the first summons. 

Through the unspeakable trials of this period 
Mme. de Lafayette's first thought was, as ever, for 
others. She comforted the inmates of that dreary 
prison with her presence, and eased their sufferings with 
the poor means at hand. " She suggested to a num- 
ber of old and infirm women that they should share 
her meals," pretending it would be of benefit to all, as 
her part of the expense would be less ; though in reality 
she paid for all and did the cooking. But in this way 
she was able to make less hard the lot of those surround- 
ing her, and greatly alleviate the sufferings of an aged 
blind nun, against whom, on account of her calling, 
unusual severity was displayed. To a soul so exquis- 
itely gentle as that of Adrienne de Lafayette, it was an 
unceasing trial to be involved in the quarrels of the 
prisoners, which were many, and naturally greatly aug- 
mented by their irksome confinement. Privacy of any 
sort was unknown, and Adrienne was obliged to live 
in a room, so called by courtesy, separated from the 
common passage by a screen only; and this she shared 
with five or six other unfortunates. 

Through some secret channel, she received the in- 
telligence that her mother and sister had been removed 
from their first prison, and were now in the Luxem- 

209 



a^atiamc tit Eafapette anti f$tt f amilp 

bourg. She was almost stunned by this news. ... It 
was another burden to be borne by those slender suffer- 
ing shoulders. From the Luxembourg to the guillo- 
tine was but a few steps. Earnestly and fervently she 
prayed for those dear ones in such dire peril. 



2IO 



CHAPTER XV 

ONE fair spring morning, one of those when 
budding trees and chirping birds brought 
home to the weary languishing prisoners all 
the charms of life of which they were so 
cruelly deprived, on the 8th Prarial (May, 1794) the 
ring of sharply echoing heels, the clatter of swords, 
mingling with and dominating the stifling noises of that 
stifling prison, announced a messenger. He bore an 
order for one of the prisoners, the Citoyenne Lafayette, 
who was ordered to be taken to Paris to that ill-omened 
prison. La Force. This famous building had, in the 
Middle Ages, been known as the Hotel du Roi de Sicile, 
but took its present name from the fact of its belong- 
ing to Cumont, Due de la Force, whose property it 
became in 1700. Fifty-four years later, Necker made 
of it what was considered a " model prison " ; compared 
to the horrors of the Chatelet, though, even then it 
was not to be regarded as the ideal pleasant dwelling. 
The order for Mme. de Lafayette's removal was 
brought by M. Gissauguer, the brother of her lawyer, 
M. Montfleury — at that time imprisoned — who was a 
captain of gendarmes. " He was so overcome by emo- 
tion that he was obliged to show the document from 
the Committee of General Safety to her without com- 
ment, as if mutely asking pardon for doing a duty so 
repellent to his feelings." Once again in the hour of 
trial did the heroic blood of the Noailles respond 
nobly. While others around her exclaimed, cried out, 
and manifested every symptom of fear and anxiety, she 
calmly said: 

211 



gl^atiame tie Slafapette 

"It is not before the Revolutionary Committee I 
am called, / am merely transferred to Paris.'''' She 
then accompanied M. Montfleury upstairs to his room, 
where they consulted as to what means would be best 
to pursue. M. Gissauguer, who was deeply devoted to 
her on account of his brother, proposed to accompany 
her on that miserable journey, the ending of which was 
so problematic. Though the order commanded that 
she should travel " from brigade to brigade," he took 
upon himself to travel with her by the post, which 
would be, though far from luxurious, much more com- 
fortable and less likely to cause her needless annoy- 
ance and humiliation in the towns through which they 
would pass. 

" Monsieur," she said to him, with perhaps the 
ghost of a smile, " do you think it possible that I should 
find the means of escaping on the way? I should not 
wish to expose either yourself or your brother, to whom 
I owe my life. If not, I accept your offer," 

It will be remembered that M. Montfleury, who 
was President of the Council of the Departement at 
the time of Mme. de Lafayette's first arrest, had pre- 
vented her being sent to Paris by using what Influence 
he possessed. Once assured that such a chance of es- 
cape could be contained in the word " Impossible," she 
consented to go with M. Gissauguer. All through those 
long night hours before they set out on their journey 
her brain was tormented by visions of flight, which she 
half decided to try before putting herself In the care 
of her friend. But as ever, the thought that the con- 
sequences of the action might be visited on the com- 
panions of her Imprisonment caused her to resist the 
temptation, though with a sigh . . . who knows. . . . 
Finally, the beautiful spring day broke, sending these 
visions fleeting to join the spectres of many a vigil be- 
neath that crime-haunted roof. She managed, however, 
to obtain twenty-four hours' delay, at once sending a 
messenger to summon her dear children, so she might 

212 



^nti ^tt favnilp 

have the joy of seeing them — perhaps for the last time. 
Though she was so unconcerned and bore her trouble 
unflinchingly, she knew in her heart of hearts that this 
journey to Paris might, probably would, end fatally. 
Always one to look squarely in the face of good or 
evil fortune, she considered the interview with her chil- 
dren in the nature of an eternal farewell. They, poor 
things! were almost too young to grasp the awfulness 
of their times. 

The aged cure of Chavinac, whose defence she had 
undertaken some time previously, was also a prisoner, 
and to him she went to make her confession. So over- 
come with emotion that he was scarcely able to perform 
the duties of his sacred office, he listened to the calm, 
low-spoken words of his sinless penitent. Mme. de 
Lafayette visited the good nuns who were imprisoned 
near by in a comfortless garret, and joined fervently In 
their prayers, cheering them with the hope that they 
would meet again ere long, though where no hushed 
lip dared ask. The simple grief of these good women 
was pitifully touching, and who knows If their fervent 
prayers may not have been heard and answered favour- 
ably. These partings over, she was taken to the com- 
mon gaol where she was to pass the night, as there M. 
Frestel could gain admittance and converse with her, 
which he would not have been allowed to do had she re- 
mained in the prison which she had so long occupied. 

" You may fancy our despair when we received on 
waking my mother's letter," wrote Virginle. " What 
news to startle one from heavy slumbers ! The mes- 
senger had been delayed," and they were in an agony 
of apprehension that the beloved mother might before 
now be gone. They wept at the thought of her sitting 
waiting in anxiety, and with the unselfishness, ever a 
characteristic of the women of that family, bade M. 
Frestel start at once, without them, as their presence 
would make his journey slower. With streaming eyes 
they watched him out of sight, for had they not, per- 

213 



a^atiame tie Eafapette 

haps, denied themselves the last meeting with the 
adored mother, who might soon be in eternity ? Every 
moment was precious, and their hearts wished the mes- 
senger Godspeed as he galloped over those roads which 
had never seemed so long as on that fair June morn- 
ing. In his pockets were the various pieces of jewellery, 
gold and trinkets which all the household, even the 
most humble, had contributed, that they might be sold 
and provide enough money to enable the beloved mis- 
tress of Chavinac to travel otherwise than in a common 
cart " from brigade to brigade." 

Arriving at Brioude, M. Frestel found great ex- 
citement everywhere, even among the Jacobins. Tak- 
ing advantage of this he cleverly managed to procure 
another twenty-four hours' delay, and sent a messenger 
flying to Chavinac, with instructions to spare neither 
man nor horse till those brave girls were clasped in 
their mother's arms. When they came M. Frestel led 
them into the cell, where they found their mother lying 
on a poor, comfortless bed, trying to gain some repose 
before beginning that uncertain journey. On the floor 
were the heavy fetters which her gaolers had been mer- 
ciful humane enough not to put in use. A few brief 
words arranged that M. Frestel should travel near, in 
fact follow, Mme. de Lafayette's carriage; and after 
she had arrived in Paris, go at once to Melun, where 
Mr, Morris was at that time living, and beg him to do 
whatever his official position would allow for the benefit 
of the prisoner. At length, importuned on all sides, 
Mme. de Lafayette consented to allow Anastasie to 
accompany M. Frestel and add her voice to the general 
entreaty. Until this promise was given her, Anastasie's 
grief was something awful to behold; she could not 
control herself. Having obtained her wish she gave 
way to the wildest joy, and cried " that it did not seem 
as if her mother was going, now that she might go with 
her! " She rushed from the prison to go to Le Puy, 
where she must obtain a passport to leave the " De- 

214 



^ttti i^ec f amilp 

partement." She was to overtake and join her mother 
on the road to Paris. Virginie and George remained 
with their mother, who charged them, young as they 
were, with many messages to their aunt and to their 
father, whom she might never see again. She had just 
finished these last instructions to her son when the en- 
trance of M. Gissauguer proclaimed the hour had 
struck; the parting could be postponed no longer. She 
took a tender farewell of the children, being far more 
grieved that they should be subjected to such misfor- 
tunes than at the fate which might await her, making 
them promise that they would seek every opportunity of 
joining their father . . . poor helpless little innocents! 
Poor Anastasie ! she had passed a day of dispiriting 
and innumerable failures. On her arrival at Le Puy, 
she proceeded immediately to the house of the Citoyen 
Guyardin, whom she begged to have an inquiry made 
in reference to her mother's conduct and forward It to 
Paris. Vulgar, low-bred, as all of his kind, he de- 
lighted in showing by the insolence of his manner, the 
contempt in which he held all women, more so when 
the one pleading to him had the misfortune to be an 
" aristocrat." He remained seated, apparently writ- 
ing, during the interview, and paid no attention to the 
requests of Mile, de Lafayette, brusquely refusing to 
read a letter from her mother which she presented. He 
then stopped writing for a moment, sneeringly re- 
marked that he could not trouble himself about a pris- 
oner who was summoned to Paris, adding some inde- 
cent jokes to his refusal. Anastasie left the room in a 
white heat of anger, furious, almost in a state of des- 
peration, for she had not been able to obtain permis- 
sion to leave the " Departement." She then went to 
Aurat, where the municipality very kindly gave her, for 
her mother, the certificate of civism, which might be 
useful. It was respectfully worded, " and spoke in 
the strongest and most touching terms of the good 
wishes formed for her by the Inhabitants." But, alas ! 

215 



Sr^atiame tie %afaptttt 

the municipality declared it was impossible to grant a 
passport to a noble. Anastasie was in frantic excite- 
ment and despair, for M. Frestel could delay no longer, 
and was obliged to go without her. She was brought 
home to Chavinac utterly prostrated with grief. 

M. Frestel had been so delayed that he was barely 
able to overtake Mme. de Lafayette at Melun. The 
officials who countersigned his passport before he was 
able to leave the district said: 

" He Is going to be the officious advocate of those 
who ought not to have any." 

" I wish," he replied, " I had the necessary talent, 
and I am sure that many, even In this hall, would envy 
me. 

With dauntless Intrepidity Mme. de Lafayette bore 
the discomforts of that harrowing journey, meeting 
with little annoyance until, on arriving at quaint Fon- 
talnebleau, her carriage was surrounded by a mob com- 
posed mostly of those terrible women who made the 
name of their sex a blot on the badly stained pages of 
the Revolution. They did not spare the unprotected 
woman, who faced a thousand eyes full of hatred as she 
had faced life with all its bitter trials, courageously, with 
a silent prayer. . . . To their vile comments she gave 
no heed, thinking, perhaps, of the days when her hus- 
band's name had been on every lip, hailed as the popu- 
lar Idol, the saviour of his country! What a lesson In 
the Instability of public favour — particularly French 
favour ! 

M. GIssauguer sat with lowering brow and com- 
pressed lip, unable to resent or prevent such behaviour. 
He confessed afterward that had his prisoner tried to 
escape, he would not have had the heart to stop her. 
During the journey she remained almost silent, for, by 
that mental sympathy which sometimes exists, she felt 
what was passing In his mind, and knowing the conse- 
quences of such an escape, and the impossibility of be- 
ing able to get safely out of France, resolutely avoided 

216 



^nti i^er f amilp 

referring to the topic. It was, perhaps, the greatest 
temptation to which she had ever been subjected. On 
their arrival, Mme. de Lafayette was sent at once to 
Le Petit Force, that prison whose horrors are too well 
known to dwell upon. It was, like all the other pris- 
ons and houses of detention, crowded to suffocation. 

Her arrival took place on the 19th Prairial, the day 
before the Fete-de-l'Etre Supreme, at which Robes- 
pierre, dressed in a sky-blue coat, carrying a bunch of 
ripe wheat — some say flowers — made his last public 
appearance. For this day alone the guillotine was 
veiled, and those weary executioners given a much- 
needed rest. The pit under the guillotine where the 
blood of the victims drained was covered insecurely 
with loose boards, and on nearing the spot and scenting 
the rank odour of not dried blood, some of the oxen 
drawing one of the cars became so excited that they 
took fright, ran away, and caused a tremendous ex- 
citement, trampling and goring all who got in their 
way. Hardly was the surprising pageant over, when 
the fatal machine was again made in readiness for those 
whose turn was next. On the 2 2d began the terreur 
dans le terreur. Every day came news of the awful 
slaughters, the wanton horrors, committed in the name 
of " Liberte." Even the wildest imagination cannot 
picture such things as daily occurred in a city celebrated 
for its beauty and charm, the superior refinement of its 
inhabitants. There were numbers of people in La 
Force, as in all the prisons, who, it was well known, 
were arrested without the slightest cause or pretence. 
All were in danger, Mme. de Lafayette, perhaps, in 
the greatest of all, for her name was enough to 
damn her with any committee. She had not learned 
yet of the savage popular lust for murder which de- 
manded that a certain number of prisoners be executed 
daily, who, it mattered not, provided Mme. Guillotine 
had her ample banquet of blood. 

The great bodily discomforts to which she was sub- 
217 



0^atiame tie Eafapette 

jected were little heeded by the prisoner, though she was 
without even the meanest necessities; but she was in a 
terrible state of mind about her mother and sister, who 
were confined in the Luxembourg. She dared not in- 
quire for them, thinking if she called attention to the 
relationship they would probably suffer more, from 
being connected with one so unpopular as herself. In 
two weeks she was transferred to Le Plessis, which by 
a strange irony of fate had been the school where her 
husband was in part educated, in those far-away sunny 
days when " Liberte " was unknown. This prison, in 
common with all others, was crowded, and one of the 
first persons to greet her was her cousin, the Duchesse 
de Duras, whom she had not met since the beginning 
of the Revolution; their widely differing political opin- 
ions, the duchesse naturally of the court party and 
Mme. de Lafayette a strong disciple of her husband, 
causing them to drift widely apart. Time had softened 
the duchesse, and she greeted her cousin warmly, glad 
to be able to speak of the old days to one who had 
known them. They at once renewed the friendship of 
their youthful days, never again to be broken or in- 
terrupted. 

The gloomy days that followed were full of awful, 
heart-rending incidents. Not two days after Mme. de 
Lafayette had been in Le Plessis, she was asked to tell 
her cousin, the Duchesse de Duras, a daughter of the 
Marechal de Mouchy ("Mme. I'Etiquette "), the 
awful news that her father and mother had fallen vic- 
tims to the Terror. Again, to " that most interesting 
young woman," Mme. Caradeuc, a daughter-in-law of 
M. de Charlotais, she broke the dreadful tidings of 
her husband's execution. Since the law of 2 2d of Prai- 
rial, the list of the victims had been marked indiscrimi- 
nately, without even a pretence of trial. It mattered 
not who, so long as the carts were full. One can hardly 
credit such unheard-of barbarity. A part of Le Plessis 
served as a depot to the Conciergerie, and each morning 

218 



anti i^er f amilp 

could be seen a band of prisoners being led to the sham- 
bles. What a sight for those behind the heavy bars, 
who watched them going to the fate which might be 
theirs ! Mme. de Lafayette wrote at this time : " The 
thought of soon being one of the victims makes one 
endure such a sight with more firmness." On two occa- 
sions she thought she heard her name called. She in- 
habited a tiny, comfortless garret room on the fifth 
floor, but it possessed one virtue in her eyes — that she 
occupied it alone. What were the thoughts of that un- 
fortunate woman, torn from husband, children, and 
friends, in hourly anticipation of the fate which, un- 
less a miracle intervened, would be hers? She was cut 
off from news of the outer world in matters relating to 
her affairs as surely as if she had been marooned on a 
desert island in a far-off tropical sea. Her garret win- 
dow allowed her a view of the roof-tops and chimneys 
of that fair city in which all the happy and the sad 
memories of her life were indissolubly mingled . . . 
she thought of the dragging hours when her husband 
was far away beyond the ocean ; she thought of the days 
when his word was a law to his fellow-citizens; she 
thought . . . but it would be vain to recall those mem- 
ories, which she determinedly put away, fearing that 
the happiness she had once experienced, now so long 
gone, should unnerve her for the unknown trials which 
the future held. Poor Adrienne! 

When she felt her courage weaken she would re- 
peat passages of the belief, and while in this prison she 
made her will, from which are a few paragraphs: 

" O Lord, thou hast been my help and my strength 
in the fearful troubles which have befallen me; thou 
art my God; all the events of my life are in thy hands, 
come to my help; do not forsake me, and I shall fear 
nothing, even in the midst of the shadows of death. . . . 

" I pardon with all my heart my enemies, if I have 
any, my persecutors, whoever they may be, and even 
the persecution of those I love. I pray God to grant 

219 



EE^atiame ht Hafapette 

them all his blessings and to pardon them as I do my- 
self. O Lord, when by the means of thy grace I pray 
for my persecutors as sincerely as I now do, thou wilt 
not reject my prayers for those whom I love, and thou 
wilt treat us according to the greatness of thy mercy. 
Have pity on me, O my God I 

" I declare that I have never ceased to be faithful 
to my country, that I have never shared in any political 
intrigue which could disturb its peace, that my most 
sincere wishes are for its happiness, that the principles 
of my attachment to it are immovable, and that no 
persecutions can shake them, from whatever side they 
may come. An example most dear to my heart sets me 
the example of these feelings. 

" I give my tenderest blessings to my children, and 
I pray God at the price of my life, which I should have 
wished to devote to their happiness, that he himself 
may bring about that happiness by making them worthy 
of him." 

She concludes in the spirit of the greatest Christian 
resignation which is so characteristic of her on this and 
all other occasions of her life. 

And those poor children for whom she so earnestly 
prayed and besought mercy? Almost as soon as their 
mother had been torn away another great misfortune 
overtook them; this was the final sale of their father's 
property, the Chateau de Chavinac, all the furniture, 
and such treasures as were left after the various pil- 
lages which it had lately undergone. Mme. de Cha- 
vinac bought her bed and a few trifling articles, but 
grieved terribly at not being allowed to keep the pic- 
ture of her brother, killed long ago at the battle of 
Minden, and to whom she had been very devotedly 
attached. He had been a colonel in the Grenadiers de 
France, and the father of the present Marquis de La- 
fayette. O temporal O mores! To think that the 
children of the Lafayettes, who had given their lives 
for their kings and their country, should be obliged to 

220 



^nti i^cr ifamiip 

subsist on the scanty provisions brought cheerfully and 
without hope of recompense by the — as yet — unsuspected 
and friendly peasants of the Commune I Deprived of 
this means of sustenance, they would have starved. 
But the lords of Chavinac had ever been noted for 
their kindness to those dependent on them, and the 
present succour of the peasants seemed but a just return 
for the many benefits they and their forebears had en- 
joyed. And it is cheering to know, in times so onerous 
and fearful, a few loyal hearts yet beat with those rare 
sentiments, gratitude and love, and at the risk of their 
wretched lives some cared for the family so scattered 
and crushed by misfortune. . . . Rumour said that the 
children were to be sent to the hospital; their aunt to 
the prison at Brioude. Nothing definite was as yet 
known. A heavy pall of uncertainty overhung all. 
They awaited the worst. 



221 



CHAPTER XVI 

DURING this time the Duchesse d'Ayen, Lou^ 
ise (Mme. de Noailles), and Mme. la Mare- 
chale de Noailles (the Duchesse de No- 
ailles), mother of the Due d'Ayen, were 
in prison together. Shortly before the attack on 
the Tuileries (August lO, 1792), they had left the 
Hotel de Noailles, which, from its situation, between 
the Jacobin club on one side and the " Assembly " at 
the foot of the garden, had ceased to be a safe place 
of residence, and gone to a small house in the Faubourg 
Saint-Germain, where Mme. de Grammont was then 
living. This change of residence being made known 
to the authorities, Mme. d'Ayen and her husband were 
summoned to appear before them and explain their 
reason for leaving the Hotel de Noailles. This they 
did in a satisfactory manner, and as things became 
rather more quiet, returned to their home almost im- 
mediately. Then came their great anxieties, fearing 
they knew not what, for M. de Lafayette, who had just 
made his famous attack on the Jacobins. With much 
relief they left Paris as soon as the gates were opened, 
going on September 2d to Poissy to stay with Mme. 
d'Agusseau, wishing to be near Saint-Germain, where 
M. d'Ayen was living in retirement with his father, not 
daring to let his whereabouts be known to his many 
enemies. It was about this time that they received the 
news of Mme. de Lafayette's arrest. M. de Lafayette 
was imprisoned in Germany, and there was nothing to 
be done at the moment but watch and wait. The calm 
of their quiet retreat and the constant society of her 

222 



£l^atidme tie Eafapette anti ^tt famtl|i 

husband compensated Mme. d'Ayen for the sorrow and 
trials of past years. The news of the tragic death of 
her king was a fearful shock, and left an ineffaceable 
impression on her mind. She went to Saint-Germain in 
the winter of 1793, to be with her father-in-law, who 
was in very poor health, and found much pleasure in 
hev society. To do this, she denied herself the prom- 
ised pleasure of going to Chavinac to spend part of the 
winter. Had she not been so self-denying the future 
might have proved very different for both of them. 

Though political affairs were more than unsettled, 
she and Louise went constantly to Paris during that 
winter, leaving no stone of influence unturned to better 
the condition of the prisoner of Chavinac. But before 
all, they sought the consolation of their religion, and 
no danger, however great, kept them from the per- 
formance of those duties which gave them such strength 
and pleasure. Deaf to the prayers of her husband, 
Louise de Noailles refused to join him in England, 
where safety could be found. She pleaded the neces- 
sity of remaining to look after her fortune; while the 
truth was that she could not bear the thought of part- 
ing from and leaving her mother in danger in order 
to save herself and her children. The feelings of her 
husband counted for nothing in the matter. She suf- 
fered for her devotion. Had Mme. d'Ayen followed 
her half-planned purpose of leaving France, as she had 
at one time Intended, there is no doubt Louise would 
have accompanied her and escaped the tragic fate await- 
ing them both. 

In April, 1793, M. d'Ayen, who had not been able 
to obtain certificates of residence satisfactory enough 
to allow him to remain In France, was obliged to go to 
Switzerland, much to the sorrow of his wife. The sud- 
den Illness of the old Marechal de Noailles prevented 
her from going to Chavinac, adding one more sorrow 
to the many which those devoted women had to bear. 
There was another in store for them, for, at the end 

223 



a^atiame tie Eafapette 

of the month of August, after a haemorrhage lasting 
four-and-twenty hours, the Marechal de Noailles passed 
away, leaving an insupportable vacancy in the little cir- 
cle of those who surrounded and loved him. The fam- 
ily soon afterward returned to Paris, hoping to distract 
the mind of Mme. d'Ayen, whose health gave great 
anxiety to her children. It was against the prayers and 
entreaties of the absent Adrienne that they took this 
step. Her presentiments of evil were soon fulfilled. 
On the first days of their return they were put under 
arrest, but do not seem to have been at all alarmed 
or apprehensive, as they were allowed to remain, un- 
der a guard, at the Hotel de Noailles. The cheerful 
intelligence that M. d'Ayen, now by the death of his 
father Due de Noailles, had reached Switzerland in 
safety, though nearly penniless, was quite reassuring. 
Fortunately the care and education of Mme. de No- 
ailles's three children now occupied a large portion of 
time which otherwise might have been spent in grieving 
and useless repining for those who were so far away. 
M. Grellet, their tutor, whom they regarded as an 
older brother, and in every way one of the family, did 
much for them in the days of trial to follow, and 
showed a devotedness and courage worthy of the great 
trust placed In him by the parents of his young charges. 
It was owing to his untiring efforts that they had the 
attendance of the Abbe Carrichon in their last mo- 
ments. By one of those marvellous turns of fortune's 
wheel, M. Grellet, though Imprisoned and In the most 
frightful peril, miraculously escaped the fate of so many 
of his friends and contemporaries. 

Though confined In their own home, once so splen- 
did, now so deserted, Mme. d'Ayen and her daughter 
were allowed to receive the visits of a few friends. 
Mme. de Menou, the daughter of Mme. de Saron 
(Mme. d'Ayen's sister), came often, and their doctor, 
M. Loblnhes, sometimes dined with them. But they 
asked no sympathy, finding ample consolation in the 

224 



Divine Providence which had been their support dur- 
ing life; and it was the daily pleasure of the grand- 
mother to teach those young hearts the truth and beau- 
ties of Christianity, as in the bygone days she had 
instructed their mother and her other children. This 
was undoubtedly the one great joy and comfort of her 
life. But such comparative safety was not to last much 
longer. One day the detenus were summoned to an- 
swer questions, to give descriptions of their every daily, 
hourly thoughts and actions. The ladies replied with 
straightforwardness and very promptly, having pre- 
pared their answers beforehand. They were treated 
politely and returned unmolested. The inventory of 
their worldly possessions had been drawn up by the 
committee, and, not wishing to be obliged to swear that 
they had concealed nothing, " while having valuables 
in their possession," Mme. d'Ayen boldly attached to 
her side, in the form of a watch chain or chatelaine, 
all the diamonds and other jewels which were left her. 
By this very openness they were saved, and the same 
day she sold them to a jeweller, who gave her at the 
moment enough money to pay some small debts, the 
rest to be paid later. This, however, the duchesse never 
received, as the jeweller was beheaded the next day! 
They were now reduced to absolute poverty, having 
nothing left to sell but a few clothes and chiffons be- 
longing to Louise de Noailles, for which they received 
a few francs. Long before this, M. Frestel had put 
at their disposition all his worldly possessions, " with 
that generous cheerfulness which was one of his many 
endearing qualities." This pitiful lack of money did 
not cause them to murmur, seeming a very small mis- 
fortune compared to the many others, the hardest to 
bear being the execution of M. de Saron, Mme. 
d'Ayen's brother-in-law, the premier president du Par- 
lement de Paris, on Easter Sunday of the year 1794. 
All the managers of her husband's estates, all men of 
business, had long ago been arrested, and the wildest 

225 



iSl^atidme tie Eafapette 

confusion prevailed everywhere. Mme. d'Ayen and 
her daughter seem to have felt little or no alarm, though 
numbers of helpless women were murdered every day. 
Like most women of their temperament and steadfast 
faith, they were prepared for what might be their fate, 
having exacted a promise from their dearly loved Abbe 
Carrichon that he would accompany them to the scaf- 
fold should destiny call them there. 

In May, 1794, being obliged to leave the splendid 
Hotel de Noailles, by order of the Revolutionary Trib- 
unal, they immediately engaged a small house, and it 
was while making some inquiries in reference to their 
furniture that the attention of those in authority was 
drawn to them. Alas, on how slight a thread hinges 
matters of life and death! Had it not been for this 
trivial occurrence, the family might yet have escaped 
the popular vengeance, for events followed events with 
such mad rapidity that the execrated of one day was 
the popular hero of the next, and vice versa — and a 
good deal of vice versa, too ! They were immediately 
and delightedly seized, led from one prison door to 
another; finally, in company with Mme. la Marechale 
de Noailles (Mme. d'Ayen's mother-in-law), being 
allowed to rest in the Luxembourg, where such heart- 
rending scenes were daily enacted. Being separated 
from the children was undoubtedly their most cruel 
sorrow, and to this was added the great and overwhelm- 
ing worry as to what would be their fate. That the 
scaffold should be the only outlet from the prison was 
the inevitable conclusion long ere the sad news was con- 
veyed by M. Grellet. Despite the almost insurmount- 
able and greatest difficulties, this courageous friend had 
managed to keep up a correspondence with the prison- 
ers, in this way giving some knowledge of what was 
taking place in the outer world. The care of Mme. 
la Marechale de Noailles, whose health was very pre- 
carious, occupied her daughter and granddaughter con- 
stantly. Their courage was maintained and strength- 

226 



3tnti J^er f amilp 

ened by a priest, at that time a fellow-prisoner, and 
once more do we find the mind of Mme. d'Ayen agi- 
tated, as in her early childhood, by those doubts and 
restlessnesses, ever so strong a trait of her character. 
It seems strange that in the midst of all the sufferings 
and physical discomfort, she should be so troubled in 
this fashion. The duchesse forgot no one belonging to 
her, leaving such messages as she was able, and greatly 
recommended her maid, who had remained faithful to 
her mistress through every discomfort and privation, 
and " exhorted her with every possible detail to take 
care of her health." Through M. Grellet she learned 
that her daughter Adrienne had been brought to Paris, 
and suffered cruelly from the fact that they were so 
near and yet for ever divided ; but she wrote to Mme. de 
Lafayette a letter containing much comforting advice. 
Mme. d'Ayen was with the Duchesse d'Orleans, mother 
of Louis Philippe, and a connection of her husband's 
family, when the news came that she and Louise were 
to go to the Conciergerie. This was equivalent to the 
sentence of death. She kept the news from the Duchesse 
d'Orleans, not wishing to distress her, and calmly went 
on with the trifling occupation in hand. Again, in this 
terrible trial Mme. d'Ayen was sustained and uplifted 
by fervent prayer. In all her sorrows she had much 
comfort from " that angelic creature," Louise de No- 
ailles, whose lot it was " to support my mother, and 
return to her at that last moment, all the love and the 
care she had received from her from her birth to her 
death." 

They arrived at the Conciergerie after a most 
fatiguing passage through the crowded streets, Mme. 
d'Ayen being prostrated with fatigue and excitement. 
Louise de Noailles managed to have a few words with 
M. Grellet, who had gone to a cafe adjoining the 
gidchet (wicket), and conveyed to him the messages 
of her mother. From this moment until their fatal 
end the sufferings of these noble women cannot be more 

227 



flt^atiamc tie Eafapette 

eloquently pictured than in the words of those who 
witnessed the tragic scenes. 

" I was told, on leaving the prison that there was 
a dame Lavet who had been in the Conciergerie in the 
same cell as Mmes. de Noailles and d'Ayen. I re- 
paired to her immediately in order to gather from her 
the details of their short and horrible stay in that 
prison. She gave them to me as follows : 

(signed) " Noailles, 

" Duchesse de Duras." 

(The Duchesse de Duras was a daughter of Mme. 
de Mouchy — " Mme. I'Etiquette " — and a sister of 
the Vicomte de Noailles, husband of Louise.) 

The following is the narrative of Mme. Lavet: 
" The citoyennes Noailles, (the Duchesse d'Ayen, the 
Vicomtesse de Noailles, and the Marechale de Noailles,) 
arrived at the Conciergerie on the 21st of July, 1794, 
extremely fatigued by their removal from the Luxem- 
bourg, which had been effected in very rough carriages. 
They greatly needed some nourishment, but it was im- 
possible to give them any, because it was nine o'clock in 
the evening, and the regulations did not allow of any- 
thing being introduced into the prison after dark." At 
this time they were so poor that they had no money to 
buy food, and only after a most minute search through 
her pockets did Louise de Noailles find a few sous, with 
which she purchased a glass of currant water for her 
mother and grandmother. " They were put in a cell 
with three other women, one of whom knew Mme, de 
Lafayette by name; this circumstance interested her in 
favour of Mme. de Lafayette's relations. She tried 
to procure beds for them, but the turnkeys absolutely 
refused to give them any, on making the discovery that 
the prisoners had not in their possession the sum of 
forty-five francs, which they wished to extort from 

228 



^ttb ^tx f amiJp 

them. They had been divested of everything at the 
Luxembourg. The VIcomtesse de Noailles had only 
fifty sous In her pocket." Mme. Lavet, deeply im- 
pressed with the misfortunes of that unhappy family, 
gave her bed to the Marechale de Noailles, so the last 
night on earth of the daughter of the proud Cosse- 
Brlssacs owed Its poor comfort to the consideration of 
an utter stranger. The same pitying hand arranged a 
sort of pallet for Mme. d'Ayen and her daughter, 
which the latter declined to occupy, saying that " she 
had too short a time to live for it to be worth while to 
take the trouble." Her mother passed most of the 
night in trying to make her do so. 

" Think," she said, " of what we shall have to go 
through to-morrow." 

" Ah, maman ! " she answered, " what need have we 
to rest on the eve of eternity? " 

She asked for a prayer book and a light, by which 
she was enabled to read. She prayed during the whole 
night. Interrupting herself occasionally to attend to her 
grandmother, who slept for several hours at different 
Intervals, and who, each time she awoke, would read 
and read over the acte d' accusation, repeating to her- 
self: "No, I cannot be condemned for a conspiracy 
which I have never heard of; I shall defend my cause 
before the judges in such a manner that they will be 
obliged to acquit me." 

She thought of her dress, and feared that it might 
be tumbled; she settled her cap, and could not believe 
that for her that day was to be the last. Mme. d'Ayen 
had fears, but she did not see the extent of the danger. 
She dozed for a few minutes. The wish of sending to 
her grandchildren her watch, which was the last thing 
left her, caused her much agitation. She begged her 
companions to take charge of it. " It is the last thing 
I can send them,'''' she said. They dared not, and the 
same answer was returned Mme. de Noailles, who 
wished to send the only thing she had, an empty pocket- 

229 



jai^atiamc tie Itafapette 

book and a lock of hair, to her children; even her por- 
trait was too dangerous. She was told that such a mis- 
sion would endanger all the persons who inhabited the 
room. She asked Mme. La vet to send word to M. 
Grellet that she died with great peace of mind and per- 
fect resignation, but that she regretted him as well as 
her children with all the tenderness of her heart. The 
name of her beloved sister, Mme. de Lafayette, was 
pronounced in that dreadful abode. She imposed si- 
lence for fear of putting her in danger. She made no 
attempt to seek for repose. Her eyes remained open 
to contemplate that heaven into which she was about to 
enter. Her face reflected the serenity of her soul. The 
idea of immortality supported her courage. Never was 
so much calm witnessed in such a place. But she would 
forget everything to be of use to her mother and grand- 
mother. At six in the morning Mme. de Bouffles, a 
relation of M. de Lafayette, brought them some choco- 
late. She was accompanied by some ladies who re- 
mained a minute with them, and bade them an eternal 
farewell. Nine o'clock struck. The hiissiers carried 
off their victims. Tears were shed by those who had 
known them only twelve hours. The mothers made 
some arrangements for the event of an acquittal. The 
daughter, who did not doubt of the doom which 
awaited them, thanked Mme. Lavet with that charm- 
ing manner which was in her a gift of nature, expressed 
all her gratitude for her kind attentions, and added : 
*' Votre ^gure est hereuse, vous ne periez pas." 

Narrative of the death of Mmes. d'Ayen and de 
Noailles, by M. Carrichon, priest of the Congregation 
of the Oratoire. 

" The Marechale de Noailles (nee Cosse-Brissac) 
and the Duchesse d'Ayen, her daughter-in-law, and the 
Vicomtesse de Noailles, her granddaughter, were de- 
tained prisoners in their own house from November, 

230 



^nti i^er f amtlp 

1793, till April, 1794. The first I only knew by sight, 
but was well acquainted with the two others, whom I 
generally visited once a week. Terror and crime were 
increasing together ; victims were becoming mcure numer- 
ous. One day, as the ladies were exhorting each other 
to prepare for death, I said to them, as by foresight: 
' If you go to the scafold, and if God gives me strength 
to do so, I shall accompany you.'' 

" They took me at my word, and eagerly exclaimed, 
' Will you promise to do sol ^ For one moment I 
hesitated. 

" ' Yes,' I replied, ' and so that you may easily rec- 
ognise me, I shall wear a dark blue coat and a red waist- 
coat.^ Since then they have often reminded me of my 
promise. 

" In the month of April, 1794, during Easter week, 
they were all conveyed to the Luxembourg. I had fre- 
quent accounts of them through M. Grellet, whose deli- 
cate attentions and zealous services were of much use 
both to them and to their children. I was often re- 
minded of my promise. On the 27th of June, on a 
Monday or a Friday, he came to beg of me to fulfil the 
engagement I had taken with the Marechal de Mouchy 
and his wife. 

" I went to the Palais de Justice and succeeded in 
entering the court. I stood very near, with my eyes 
fixed on them during a quarter of an hour. M. and 
Mme. de Mouchy, whom I had only seen once at their 
own house, and whom I knew better than they knew 
me, could not distinguish me in the crowd. God in- 
spired me, and with his help I did all I could do for 
them. The Marechal was singularly edifying, and 
prayed aloud with all his heart. The day before, on 
leaving the Luxembourg, he had said to those who had 
given him marks of sympathy: 

" ' At seventeen years of age I mounted the breach 
for my King; at seventy-seven I ascend the scafold for 
my God; my friends, I am not to be pitied.' 

231 



Sl^atiame lie Eafapctte 

" I avoid details which would be interminable. 
That day I thought it useless to go as far as the guillo- 
tine, besides, my courage failed me. This was ominous 
for the fulfillment of the promise I had made to their 
relations who were thrown into the deepest affliction by 
this catastrophe. They had all been confined in the 
same prison, and had been of great comfort to each 
other. 

" I could say much about the numerous and dismal 
processions which preceded or followed that of the 
27th and which were happy or miserable, according to 
the state of mind of those who composed them; sad 
they always were, even when every exterior sign de- 
noted resignation and promised a Christian death, but 
truly heart-rending when the doomed victims had none 
of these feelings, and seemed about to pass from the 
sufferings of this world to those of the next. 

" On the 22d of July (1794) on a Tuesday morn- 
ing, as I was just going out, I heard a knock. I opened 
the door, and saw the Noailles children with their 
tutor. The children were cheerful, as is usually the 
case with them at that age, but under their merriment 
was concealed sadness of heart caused by their recent 
losses and by their fears for the future ; the tutor looked 
sad, careworn, pale, and haggard. ' Let us go to your 
study,' he said, ' and leave the children in this room.' 
We did so. He threw himself on a chair. 

" ' All is over, my friend,' he said. ' The ladies are 
before the Revolutionary Tribunal. I summon you to 
keep your word. I shall take the boys to Vincennes to 
see little Euphemie,' (their sister). 'While in the 
woods I shall prepare these unfortunate children for 
their terrible loss.' 

" Although I had been prepared for this news, I 
was greatly shocked. The frightful situation of the 
parents, of the children, of their worthy tutor, that 
youthful mirth so soon to be followed by so much mis- 
ery, poor little Euphemie, then only four years old, all 

232 



these thoughts rushed upon my mind. I soon recovered 
myself, and after a few questions and answers full of 
mournful details, I said to M. Grellet: 

" ' You must go now, and I must change my dress. 
What a task I have before me! Pray that God may 
give me strength to accomplish it.' 

" We rose and found the children innocently amus- 
ing themselves, looking gay and happy. The sight of 
them, the thought of their unconsciousness of what 
they were soon to learn, and of the interview which 
would follow with their little sister, rendered the con- 
trast more striking, and almost broke my heart. Left 
alone after their departure, I felt terrified and ex- 
hausted. ' My God have pity on them and on me ! ' 
I exclaimed. I changed my clothes and went to two or 
three places. With a heavy load on my heart I turned 
my steps towards the ' Palais de Justice,' between one 
and two in the afternoon. I tried to get in, but found 
it impossible. I made enquiries of a person who had 
just left the tribunal. I still doubted the truth of the 
news which had been told me. But the answer de- 
stroyed all illusion and all hope; I could doubt no lon- 
ger. Once more I went on my way, and turned my 
steps towards the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. What 
thoughts, what agitations, what secret terrors distracted 
my poor brain ! I opened my heart to a friend whom 
I could trust, and who, speaking to me in God's name, 
strengthened my courage. At his house I took some 
Coffee, which seemed to relieve my head. 

" Thoughtful and irresolute, I slowly retraced my 
steps to the ' Palais de Justice,' dreading to get there, 
and hoping not to find those for whom I was seeking. 
I arrived before five o'clock. There were no signs of 
departure. Sick at heart, I ascended the steps of the 
Saint-Chapelle, then I walked slowly unto the Grande 
salle, and walked about. I sat down, I rose again, but 
spoke to no one. From time to time I cast a melan- 
choly glance towards the courtyard, to see if there were 

233 



Sl^atiame De ^tafapette 

any signs of departure. My constant thought was that 
in two hours, perhaps one, they would be no more. I 
cannot say how overwhelmed I was by that idea, 
which has affected me all through life on such occa- 
sions, and they have been only too frequent. While 
a prey to these mournful feelings, never did an hour 
appear to me so long or so short as the one which 
elapsed between five and six o'clock on that day. Con- 
flicting thoughts were constantly crossing my mind, 
which made me suddenly pass from the illusions of 
vain hopes to fears, alas ! too well founded. At last 
I saw from a movement in the crowd, that the prison 
door was on the point of being opened. I went down 
and placed myself near the outer gate, as for the pre- 
vious fortnight it had been impossible to enter the 
prison yard. The first cart was filled with prisoners and 
came toward me. It was occupied by eight ladles whose 
demeanour was most edifying. Of these, seven were 
unknown to me. The last, who was very near me, was 
the Marechale de Noailles. A transient ray of hope 
crossed my heart when I saw that her daughter and 
granddaughter were not with her, but alas! they were 
in the second cart. 

" Mme. de Noailles was in white, which she had 
not left off since the death of her father, and mother- 
in-law, (the Marechal and Marechale de Mouchy,) 
and she did not appear more than twenty-four years of 
age; Mme. d'Ayen, who looked about forty, wore a 
deshabille of striped blue and white. Six men got 
in after them. I was pleased to see the respectful dis- 
tance at which the first two placed themselves, so as 
to leave more room for the ladies. They were scarcely 
seated when the mother became the object of that ten- 
der solicitude for which her daughter was well known. 

" I heard one near me say: 'Look at the young 
one; how anxious she seems! See how she is speaking 
to the other one.' For my part I felt as if I had heard 
all they were saying. ' Mama, he is not there.'' ' Look 

234 



^ttti i^er f amilp 

again.' 'Nothing escapes me — / assure you he is not 
there! ' 

" They had evidently forgotten that I had sent them 
word that it would be impossible for me to gain en- 
trance to the prison yard. The first cart stopped be- 
fore me during at least a quarter of an hour. It moved 
on, the second followed. I approached the ladies, they 
did not see me. I went again into the ' Palais de Jus- 
tice,' and then a long way round, and stood at the en- 
trance of the Pont-au-Change, in a prominent place. 
Mme. de Noailles cast her eyes around, she passed and 
did not see me. I followed the cart over the bridge, 
and thus kept near the ladies, though separated from 
them by the crowd. Mme. de Noailles still looking 
for me, did not perceive me. Mme. d'Ayen's anxiety 
became visible on her countenance. Her daughter 
watched the crowd with increasing attention, but in 
vain. I felt tempted to turn back. Have I not done 
all that I could, I inwardly exclaimed? Everywhere 
the crowd will be greater; it is useless to go any fur- 
ther. I was on the point of giving up the attempt. 
Suddenly the sky became overclouded, thunder was 
heard in the distance. I made a fresh effort. A short 
cut brought me before the carts to the rue Saint-An- 
toine, nearly opposite the too famous * Force.' At that 
moment the storm broke forth, the wind blew violently ; 
flashes of lightning and claps of thunder followed in 
rapid succession; the rain poured down in torrents. I 
took shelter at a shop door. The spot is always pres- 
ent in my memory, and I have never passed by it since 
without emotion. In one moment the street was 
cleared; the crowd had taken refuge in the shops and 
gateways. There was less order in the procession, both 
the escort and the carts having quickened their pace. 
They were close to the ' Petit Saint- Antoine,' and I was 
still undecided. The first cart passed. By a precipitate 
and involuntary movement I quitted the shop door and 
rushed towards the second cart, and found myself close 

235 



£t^attame tie Safapette 

to the ladles. Mme. de Noailles perceived me, and 
smiling, seemed to say : 

'' ' There you are at last! How happy we are to 
see you! How we have looked for you! Mama, there 
he is! ' 

" Mme. d'Ayen began to revive. As for myself, 
all the irresolution vanished from my mind. By the 
grace of God I felt possessed of extraordinary cour- 
age. Soaked with rain and perspiration, I continued 
to walk by them. On the steps of the church of Saint- 
Louis I met a friend, who, filled with respect and at- 
tachment for the ladies, was endeavouring to give them 
the same assistance. His countenance, his attitude, 
showed what he felt. I placed my hand on his shoul- 
der, and shuddering, said, ' Good evening, my friend.' 

" The storm was at its height. The wind blew 
tempestuously and greatly annoyed the ladies In the first 
cart, more especially the Marechale de Noailles. With 
her hands tied behind her, with no support for her 
back, she tottered upon the wretched plank upon which 
she was placed. Her large cap fell back and exposed 
to view some gray hairs. Immediately a number of 
people who were gathered there, notwithstanding the 
rain, having recognised her, she became the sole object 
of their attention. They added oy their insults to the 
sufferings she was enduring so patiently. 

" ' There she is, that Marechale who used to go 
about with so many attendants, driving in such fine 
coaches; there she is in the cart, just like the others!' 

" The shouts continued, the sky became darker, the 
rain fell heavier still. We were close to the carrefour 
preceding the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. I went for- 
ward, examined the spot, and said to myself, ' This 
is the place for granting them what they so much long 
for.' 

" The cart was going slower, I turned towards the 
ladies, and made a sign which Mme. de Noailles un- 
derstood perfectly. 

236 



^nti JJcr ifamilp . 

" ' Mama, M. Carrichon is going to give us abso- 
lution/ she evidently whispered. They piously bowed 
their heads, with a look of repentance, contrition, and 
hope. Then I lifted my hand, and, without uncover- 
ing my head, pronounced the form of absolution and 
the words which follow it distinctly and with super- 
natural attention. Never shall I forget the expression 
of their faces. From that moment the storm abated, 
the rain diminished, and seemed only to have fallen 
for the furtherance of our wishes. I offered up my 
thanks to God, and so did, I am sure, those pious 
women. Their exterior appearance spoke contentment, 
security, and joy. As we advanced through the Fau- 
bourg, the rain having ceased, a curious multitude again 
lined the sides of the streets, insulting the ladies in the 
first cart, but above all the Marechale. Nothing was 
said to the others. I sometimes walked by the side of 
the cart, and sometimes preceded them. 

" At last we reached the fatal spot. I cannot de- 
scribe what I felt. What a moment ! What a separa- 
tion! What an affliction for the children, husbands, 
sisters, relations, and friends who are to survive those 
beloved ones in this valley of tears! There they are 
before me full of health, and in one moment I shall see 
them no more. What anguish ! Yet not without deep 
consolation at beholding them so resigned. 

" We came in sight of the scaffold. The carts 
stopped, and were immediately surrounded by the sol- 
diers. A ring of numerous spectators soon formed, 
most of whom were laughing and amusing themselves 
at the horrible sight. It was dreadful to be amongst 
them. 

" While the executioner and his two assistants were 
helping the prisoners out of the first cart, Mme. de 
Noailles's eyes sought for me in the crowd. She caught 
sight of me. What a wonderful expression there was 
in those looks! Sometimes raised towards heaven, 
sometimes lowered towards earth, her eyes so ani- 

237 



flt^atiame tie Eafapette 

mated, so gentle, so expressive, so heavenly, were often 
fixed on me in a manner which would have attracted 
notice if those around me had had time for observa- 
tion. I pulled my hat over my eyes without taking 
them off her. I felt as if I could hear her say: ^ Our 
sacrifice is accomplished; we have the firm and comfort- 
ing hope that a merciful God is calling us to him. 
How many dear to us we leave behind! but we shall 
forget no one. Farewell to them, and thanks to you. 
Jesus Christ who died for us is our strength. May we 
die in him. Farewell. May we all meet in heaven!' 

" It Is impossible to give an idea of the animation 
and fervour of those signs, the eloquence of which was 
so touching that a bystander exclaimed : ' Oh, that 
young woman, how happy she seems, hotv she looks 
up to heaven, how she is praying! But what is the 
use of it all? ' and then, on second thoughts, ' Oh, the 
rascals, the bigots! ' 

" The mother and daughter took a last farewell of 
each other and descended from the cart. As for me, 
the outer world disappeared for a moment. At once 
broken-hearted and comforted, I could only return 
thanks to God for not having waited for this moment 
to give them absolution, or, what would have been still 
worse, delayed it until they had ascended the scaffold. 
We could not have joined in prayer while I gave and 
they received this great blessing as we had been enabled 
to do in the most favourable circumstances possible at 
such a time. I left the spot where I was standing and 
went over to the other side, while the victims were 
getting out. I found myself opposite to the wooden 
steps which led to the scaffold. An old man, tall and 
straight, with white hair and a good-natured counte- 
nance, was leaning against it. I was told he was a 
fermier general. Near him stood a very edifying lady 
whom I did not know. Then came the Marechale de 
Noailles exactly opposite me, dressed in black taffetas, 
for she was still In mourning for her husband. She was 

238 



^nti i^cr f amilp 

sitting on a block of wood or stone which happened to 
be there, her large eyes fixed with a vacant look. I had 
not omitted to do for her what I had done for so many 
and in particular for the Marechal and Marechale de 
Mouchy. All the others were drawn up in two lines 
looking towards the Faubourg Saint- Antoine. From 
where I stood I could only see Mme. d'Ayen, whose at- 
titude and countenance expressed the most sublime, un- 
affected, and devout resignation. She seemed only 
occupied with the sacrifice she was about to make to 
God, through the merits of the Saviour, his divine son. 
She looked as she was wont to do when she had the 
happiness of approaching the altar for holy commun- 
ion. I shall never forget the impression she made on 
me at that moment. It is often in my thoughts. God 
grant that I may profit by it ! 

" The Marechale de Noailles was the third person 
who ascended the scaffold. The upper part of her 
dress had to be cut away in order to uncover her throat. 
I was impatient to leave the place, yet I wished to drink 
the cup of bitterness to the dregs and to keep my prom- 
ise, as God was giving me strength to do so, even in the 
midst of all my shuddering horror. Six ladies fol- 
lowed; Mme. d'Ayen was the tenth. How happy she 
seemed to die before her daughter! The executioner 
tore off her cap, as it was fastened by a pin which he 
had forgotten to remove; he pulled her hair violently, 
and the pain he caused was visible on her countenance. 

" The mother disappeared, the daughter took her 
place. What a sight to behold that young creature, 
all in white, looking still younger than she really was, 
like a gentle lamb going to the slaughter ! I fancied 
I was witnessing the martyrdom of one of the young 
virgins or holy women whom we read of in the history 
of the church. What had happened to the mother also 
happened to her; the same pin in the removal of her 
cap, then the same composure, the same death. Oh I 
the abundant crimson stream that gushed from her 

239 



a^atiame tie Hafapette anti J^er f amilp 

head and neck ; how happy she is now, I thought, as her 
body was thrown into that frightful coffin! 

" May Almighty God in his mercy bestow on the 
members of that family all the blessings which I ask 
and entreat them to ask for mine! May we all be 
saved with those who have gone before us to that happy 
dwelling where revolutions are unknown, to that abode 
which, according to the words of Saint Augustine, has 
truth for its King, Charity for its law, and will endure 
for eternity! " 



240 



CHAPTER XVII 

MME. DE LAFAYETTE was kept at La 
Force and Le Plessis in all fifty days. It 
is extraordinary that she did not hear of her 
mother's death, as it was the custom to read 
every morning, outside the prisons, a list of the victims 
of the preceding day. She was spared many hours of 
anguish over the irremediable. What would come next 
none could, none dared, conjecture. Blood ran in tor- 
rents at the nod of the infamous, inhuman tyrant whose 
thirst for defenseless murder has not been equalled in 
history. Robespierre was the law. His spies were in 
each secret nook of the country. When one of the 
preconsuls, whom the tyrant sent into the departements 
to quicken the motions of the guillotine, had done a 
good day's work, that is to say, in their language, 
levelled many heads, he wrote : " We have put the coun- 
try in train; we have made the rich dance a fine Car- 
magnole; the holy guillotine goes on well," 

Robespierre intrigued with the enemies of France. 
He secretly bought property in England ; this fact came 
to light after the death of the monster. When he and 
his confederates desired the death of any one, they 
promptly had him accused of being a Federalist. What 
the exact meaning of the word was no one knew; it 
served its purpose. The unfortunate was convicted of 
being a " Federalist," and the " holy guillotine " 
eagerly drank his blood. So much for the administra- 
tive qualities of M. Robespierre. 

It is incredible how France stood the tyranny of 
this nobody, who, five years before (1789), an insig- 

241 



Sr^atiame lie Eafapette 

nificant member of the States General, had risen to a 
height of power and autocracy never surpassed or 
equalled among the ancients. 

" Read Roman history in the times of Catiline, 
Nero, or Tiberius, and you will not be able to find a 
time when appearances were so disregarded." " How 
was it that the ' Enlightened and powerful Assembly,' 
that the whole of France, did not open its eyes at those 
terrible massacres, those awful deluges of innocent 
blood? " How did France endure those barbarous 
arrests; those taxes and arbitrary requisitions; those 
thousands of scaffolds and victims; those violations of 
all rights and principles; those destructions of persons 
pretendedly suspected, by others more suspicious; that 
crowd of sufferers of every sex, heaped up in dungeons, 
mutilated, tortured, condemned without pretext — with- 
out even being heard? How, indeed . . . was it to 
nourish those vampires that France devoured and de- 
stroyed herself for so long a period? ... It was as 
If hell let loose her furies against France ! 

Gradually Robespierre gathered In his hands the 
reins of absolute power. To him were sent lists of the 
victims of the Revolutionary Tribunals, which he 
marked with an " A " or a " C " — " Acquitted " or 
*' Condemned " — against names which struck his fancy, 
and the " C " was a letter much preferred by him to 
that commencing the alphabet. He alone signed the 
sentences of execution; and, as he became more power- 
ful, shed Innocent blood with less and less compunc- 
tion. " Rome had a series of tyrants in succession, or, 
at least, at short intervals, but France had at one and 
the same Instant, a host of Callgulas. Tacitus himself 
would have broken his pencil from regret at not being 
able to paint all the crimes which sprang from the 
monstrous . . . the ferocious Robespierre." This 
fearful state of blood and carnage lasted for eighteen 
months. " Liberty slept only on mattresses of dead 
carcasses." 

242 



^nb ^tt f amilp 

Robespierre at length decided that a religious 
basis was necessary to uphold his dominion, and, re- 
garding himself in the light of a second Mahomet, 
promptly commanded a festival in honour of the " Su- 
preme Being," which he attended dressed in a sky- 
blue coat, with exquisite ruffles of lace, and holding a 
bunch of flowers, fruit, and ripe wheat in his hand. 
The services began in the presence of a vast concourse 
of people. The diary of that gruesome person, 
Sanson, at that time executioner, has the following 
entry : 

Prairial 21st: The festival of the Supreme Being 
took place yesterday. Flowers were brought from 
miles around in honour of the Divinity; but the Pon- 
tiff did not pronounce the words of clemency expected. 
We removed the scaffold, and this gave credence to the 
rumours of amnesty. The hideous cesspool of blood 
which lies under the scaffold was covered with long 
and strong planks. Brilliant as the proceedings were, 
the day was not exactly a success. They say it was the 
festival of discord, not of the Supreme Being. If 
Robespierre did not claim the finest privilege of royalty, 
clemency, he at least appropriated its haughty formali- 
ties. He is accused of having made the Convention 
wait for him, with having preceded the Representa- 
tives, as if to show that they were only a gang of in- 
feriors; even the elegance of his dress, the proportions 
of the banquet which he held are criticised, and for 
some irrepressible Republicans these are unmistakable 
tokens of his royalist leanings." 

This extraordinary exhibition began with a chorus 
of more than two thousand singing a hymn to the Su- 
preme Being. Bands of young girls scattered flowers, 
then, advancing dramatically, Robespierre set fire to 
two colossal figures, meant to represent Atheism and 
Superstition. By an ingenious arrangement, as they 
burnt Wisdom appeared; but — very typically, though 
unintentionally — Wisdom was blackened badly with 

243 



£l^atiame tie Hafapette 

fire and smoke. This pleasant fieste over, the guillo- 
tine was immediately replaced and set in motion. 

Like all wicked and jealous creatures, Robespierre 
and his colleagues, actuated by suspicion and jealousy, 
finally quarrelled among themselves. After stormy 
scenes, he who had dictated the law, commanded the 
death of thousands, was ignominiously arrested, and 
on July 28, 1794, reluctantly compelled to ascend the 
steps of the scaffold and test the care-kiUing qualities 
of the " holy guillotine " which he had been so fond of 
prescribing for others. Sic semper tyrannis! 

What effect did the news of the monster's death 
have on those crowds of his victims filling the prisons? 
They were at first too stunned, too apathetic, to give 
it much thought, much less grasp at once what it might 
mean to them. Perhaps a worse time was coming. It 
might mean anything. They waited in listless anxiety. 
Then came the rumour that the Revolutionary Trib- 
unes had stopped. Taking advantage of a momentary 
lull, Mme. de Lafayette sought a means of sending to 
the Luxembourg for news of her mother, yet she hesi- 
tated, fearing to bring additional danger on those so 
dear to her. Finally, the Duchesse de Duras wrote. 
The reply, a mere scribble on a bit of dirty paper, told 
the dreadful news . . . The shock was too fearful to 
comprehend, too much to describe. Those whom they 
loved were no more. . . . Mme, de Lafayette's grief 
was uncontrollable. She was crushed; utterly stunned. 
In her letters to her children she assures them " that 
they will be of much comfort to her," but at first it 
seemed to her impossible that she should ever receive 
any. She was incapable of feeling anything more. 
She wrote to them later: "To return thanks to God 
for having preserved my strength, my life, my reason; 
do not regret that you were far from me. God kept 
me from revolting against Him, but for a long time I 
could not have borne the slightest appearance of human 
comfort." 

244 



l.nti i^er f amilp 

" Her submission to the will of that God who had 
called to Himself those pious victims was complete. 
She made frequent use of the Psalms, and no one ever 
felt their beauty more than she did. She had procured 
while at Le Plessis a small Psalm book, all in Latin; 
although she was unacquainted with that language, she 
was so thoroughly versed in the service of the church 
that this book was of the greatest comfort to her. It 
soothed the heart blighted by torture of all kinds." 

" Often," she wrote to her children, " I find in the 
sentiments of those who are gone, the thoughts I should 
like you to have, these I pray God to put in my heart; 
and which he has sometimes granted me." 

There was a lull after the eventful loth Thermidor 
— the calm after a devastating tempest. The apathy 
of the prisoners was animated by a faint, hardly 
breathed hope that perhaps the worst had passed. . . . 
The tyrant had fallen by the hands of the executioner; 
the massacres had ceased . . . but might begin at any 
moment. It was too soon to hope ; still, they lived, they 
hoped. Mme. de Lafayette wrote to her son: 

" That the thought of following in footsteps so dear 
would have taken from the horror of so awful an end." 
She was so absorbed, so stunned by her grief, that she 
was utterly dead to the outside world. She lived, she 
moved, as one in a trance. 

Toward the end of Fructidor, the Committee of 
General Safety, composed of Thermidoreans, deputed 
the Representatives Bourdon de I'Oise and Legendre 
to visit the prison of Le Plessis and decide the fate of 
the prisoners. All were set at liberty. On some one 
objecting that the Duchesse de Duras was an aristocrat 
and should not be given her freedom, Legendre declared 
that " she might well be an Aristocrate, after all she 
had suffered." She was thereupon dismissed with the 
rest of the prisoners. Mme. de Lafayette was the last. 
No one had the courage to say who she was, and she 
herself, with the pride she always displayed in pro- 

245 



a^atiame tie Eafapette 

nouncing the name of her husband, faced the commit- 
tee, and to their questions rephed that she was " La 
femme Lafayette." The representants said that as her 
husband had so evidently betrayed his country, it was 
too grave a matter for them to decide her fate. She 
must send her papers to the committee. She begged 
the commission to undertake to carry these papers, for 
she had no one to whom she could intrust them. 

" When you were surrounded by your aides-de- 
camp," said Legendre, " it was not thus you spoke; you 
were more insolent then." 

So much absorbed had she been in her numbing 
grief that, since that fatal news, she had ceased to count 
time. She endured the fearful captivity to which she 
was subjected indifferently, not caring whether or not 
it was ended. She was too worn out to make an effort 
to better her condition. She concealed from her chil- 
dren the result of the visit of the committee, hoping to 
spare them anxiety until something definite was decided. 
She let them hope. She planned to leave France, tak- 
ing them all with her as soon as she could procure her 
release. The newly appointed American minister, Mr. 
Monroe, tried, without success, to have this effected. 
Mme. Beauchet was indefatigable, and came to the 
prison every day; but the authorities were obdurate. 
Mr. Monroe and his wife came several times to the 
prison to see her; and, though unable to effect her re- 
lease, cheered her with their society and conversation. 
As affairs assumed a more normal condition, the num- 
ber of prisoners detained on suspicion decreased, and 
most of the temporary prisons were restored to their 
former functions. Le Plessis was appropriated to the 
use of receiving the accused awaiting trial. Indifferent 
to her fate, to her habitation, Mme. de Lafayette would 
not ask for a change of prisons, but she was sent first 
to the rue des Amandiers, and afterward to the Maison 
Delmas, in the rue Notre Dame des Champs. She had 
a strange experience in the house of the rue des Aman- 

246 



^nti ^tt f amiip 

diers — street of the almond trees : what a name to con- 
jure with ! — being the only woman among twenty West 
Indian settlers, who, on her arrival, and during the 
first part of her stay, plainly showed the ill-will which 
they bore her on account of her well-known champion- 
ship of the blacks. But, we are told, " they did not 
long resist the impression she always produced, and 
they left the prison professing the greatest admiration 
for her; it seemed as if her captivity had been pro- 
longed that she might receive a tribute of praise from 
men of the most opposed, and even of the most critical 
parties." " Misery makes strange bedfellows," and the 
ever-changing occupants of that prison were a motley 
crowd. There were many friends of the odious and 
tyrannical government just fallen. There was the tutor 
of Saint- Just, who " spoke with much praise of his 
pupil"; then came the prosecutor of the Tribunal 
d'Orange, celebrated above all others for its atrocities; 
but, from all these persons, as it had been in the world 
outside, she received universal respect. 

Physically she was most unhappy, and suffered 
greatly during the extremely severe winter of 1794-95. 
The prisoners all partook of their meals in a large bar- 
ren hall, destitute of fire and comfort, and in their 
rooms fared little better, except that on account of their 
small size they were less draughty and cold. Every- 
thing in the room occupied by Mme. de Lafayette was 
frozen, and she, who had always been particularly sen- 
sitive to cold, suffered dreadfully. She passed four 
months in the Maison Delmas, rue Notre Dame des 
Champs, and received many visits from that good friend, 
the Abbe Carrichon, who told her of the last hours of 
those martyred women so dear to her. His presence 
brought her much comfort, and again she was able to 
receive the comforts of the Church. The abbe was 
obliged to represent himself as a carpenter, and come 
in the garb of that profession, with his tools, in order 
to obtain admission to the house. 

247 



a^atiame ht Hafapette 

Meanwhile every effort was being made to obtain 
her release. The American minister was unwearying 
in his exertions. Mme. Beauchet went continually to 
the citoyen Colombel, reporter of the committee, who 
found a fresh excuse for delay from day to day. The 
Duchesse de Duras went personally to see him. These 
persistent women had their reward. At last the com- 
mittee, with the exception of Legendre, began to listen 
favourably. He was obdurate, and refused his signa- 
ture, which was necessary to procure her freedom. At 
last Mme. de Duras went to see him during his toilette. 
She reminded him of her obligations toward him, say- 
ing that her cousin had undergone as many misfortunes, 
and suffered more than she herself, and that she should 
have the same rights. She refused to take " No " for 
an answer. She would not leave him until he agreed 
with her. Finally, he promised to oppose her wish no 
longer, and signed the order for her cousin's release. 
This eventful day was the 2d Pluviose (January 22, 
1795) sixteen long, dreary months since her first in- 
carceration. 

Think of a cold, crisp January day, when all Paris 
seemed to be abroad on errands of pleasure! How 
eagerly the prison-tired eyes of that weary woman 
roved to and fro in search of a familiar face, a time- 
hallowed landmark. How she listened to the well- 
known cries of the street vendors; and, must we write 
it? scanned the shop windows and the garments of the 
feminine portion of the population, for, even in revolu- 
tions and reigns of terror, fashions change, and the 
noblest must sometimes unbend ! How good, how care- 
less and happy, it all seemed to her who so short a 
while before had never hoped to see the clear sky or 
pass through those dear, crooked streets again except 
in that last ride in the tumbrel! She hastened at once 
to thank her friend, Mr. Monroe, for his many kind- 
nesses, asking him to put her under even greater obliga- 
tion by procuring a passport for herself and her family. 

248 



^nii J^cr f amilp 

She would not go without her daughters, and her only 
hope was to take them to join their father. Before 
leaving France, probably for ever, she desired to make 
arrangements to send her son George to America. She 
dared not leave him in France, she could not take him 
to Germany in the midst of his father's enemies; 
America would be the best and wisest choice. As one 
returned from the grave she was treated and welcomed 
by her many relations. She had much pleasure and 
comfort in making a visit to her aunt, Mme. de Segur, 
then living at Chantenay, not far from Paris, where 
she " found young Laure de Segur in a terrible state of 
religious excitement," but with her sensible advice 
soothed and eased her mind, succeeding in calming the 
girl, " obtaining for her the comforts of religion for 
which she was longing," also setting the mind of Mme. 
de Segur at rest about her child, whose condition had 
caused her grave anxiety of late. 

In return for the good she did Laure, she received 
more than a reward from her mother. Mme. de Segur 
was a woman of amiable, sweet disposition, of gentle 
manners which, even more than her lovely face and 
the cheerful calm of her home, served to soothe the 
storm-tossed wanderer, and make her for the time for- 
get the awful happenings so lately passed. Her mind 
was reduced to comparative tranquillity by this visit, 
and she began to wake from the awful torpor which 
had stunned her since her mother's death. " My aunt 
has renewed in my blighted existence a great and tender 
interest," she wrote while there. 

She still had great fears of involving others in her 
troubles, and would not allow her son to visit her at 
her aunt's, directing him to go to the house of two 
old Jansenist ladies, at Chilly, not far from Chantenay. 
Her devoted friend. Father Lambert, formerly of the 
order of the Dominicans, was concealed in this house. 
Six days after leaving her prison, she was able to em- 
brace her dear son, who had obeyed his mother's sum- 

249 



i^atiame tie Eafa|iette 

mons without waiting for more than the necessary- 
money to make the journey. " Greater even than the 
happiness of seeing him, was her pleasure in finding 
him so like what she had wished." At this moment 
she was happier than she had believed herself capable 
of being again in this life. 

" I feel," she said, " a consolation so deep, so far 
greater than what I had expected, that I enjoy it more 
completely than any happiness which may yet be in 
store for me," 

Each minute in Paris seemed an hour, for she 
longed to see the dear daughters from whom she had 
been so long separated, but she would not go from Paris 
until she had obtained the passports to enable her son 
to leave the country for America. She knew this would 
be her husband's desire, and great as must be her sor- 
row in parting from him, once there, under the protec- 
tion of General Washington, he would be beyond fur- 
ther danger, and her mind relieved of one anxiety of 
the many. M. Segur introduced her to Boissy d'An- 
glas, one of the most influential members of the newly 
formed Committee of Public Safety. He was also a 
most upright man, making it his object to do as much 
good as lay in his power, a sentiment vastly different 
from those professed and practiced by his predecessors 
in office. He procured a passport and made his col- 
leagues sign it, without having the faintest idea as to 
the identity of the " Citoyen Motier." Another was 
procured for the faithful Frestel. In order to avoid 
any suspicion, George was to go to Havre in care of 
Mr. Russel, a citizen of Boston, and then embarking, 
await the arrival of M. Frestel, who was to follow with 
Mr. Russel's father. George's name and identity were 
to be kept a strict secret on board the vessel, and he 
was to obey the judgment of M. Frestel in everything. 
His mother did not wish him to be known In the United 
States until he had an older and wiser head to advise 
him. He was to put himself under the care of General 

250 



9lnti 1$tt f amilp 

Washington as soon as possible. She wrote that illus- 
trious man the following letter (this was in the spring 
of 1795): 

" Monsieur : I send you my son. Although I 
have not had the consolation of being listened to or 
of obtaining from you those good offices which I 
thought likely to bring about his father's delivery from 
the hands of our enemies, because your views were dif- 
ferent from mine, nevertheless my reliance on your 
kindness is not diminished, and it is with the deepest 
and most sincere confidence that I put my dear child 
under the protection of the United States, which he 
has ever been accustomed to look upon as his second 
country, and which I myself have always considered 
as being our future home under the special protection 
of their President, with whose feelings towards his 
father I am so well acquainted. 

" The person who accompanies George has been 
since our misfortunes our support, our protector, our 
comfort, and my son's guide. My desire is that he 
should continue to direct him, that until his arrival my 
son should remain privately in M. Russel's house, that, 
once united, they should never separate, and that we 
may have some day the happiness of meeting all to- 
gether in the land of Liberty. To the noble efforts of 
that friend, my children owe their father's life. Not- 
withstanding all the perils he encountered on his way, 
he made known to M. Morris the horrible situation I 
was in, and, after having the courage to traverse the 
whole of France in those times of horror, following a 
prisoner who was to all appearances devoted to death, 
he animated the zeal of the American Minister to whose 
applications I probably owe that my sacrifice was de- 
ferred until the revolution of the loth of Thermidor. 
He will tell you that I have never given a pretext for 
any accusation against me; that my country can re- 
proach me with nothing, and I myself will tell you that 

251 



£l^atJame tie %ataptttt 

it Is near him and with him that my son invariably 
learnt, even in the depth of misery, to discern between 
Liberty and the horrors with which its name has been 
associated. While receiving from him each day the 
example of the most generous virtues his heart was 
being formed for those noble feelings which have pre- 
served, and always will, I hope, preserve in his soul 
the love of a country where such dear victims have been 
sacrificed, where his father is disowned and persecuted, 
and where his mother was during sixteen months con- 
fined in prison. The last sacrifice which this friend has 
made for us is that of separating himself from a family 
he dearly loves. I ardently wish M. Washington to 
know what he is, and how much we are indebted to 
him. A letter will very insufficiently fulfil my object. 
When shall I be able to do so myself? 

" My wish is that my son should lead a very se- 
cluded life in America, that he should resume his stud- 
ies interrupted by three years of misfortunes, and that 
far from the land where so many events are taking 
place which might dishearten or revolt him, he may 
become fit to fulfil the duties of a citizen of the United 
States whose feelings will always agree with those of a 
French citizen, 

" I shall not say anything here of my own posi- 
tion, nor of the one which interests me still more than 
mine. I rely on the bearer of this letter to interpret 
the feelings of my heart, too withered to express any 
others but those of the gratitude I owe MM. Monroe, 
Skypwith, and Mountflorence for their kindness and 
their useful endeavours in my behalf. 

" I beg M. Washington will accept the assurances, 
etc. . . . 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

Young George arrived without any unfortunate 
adventure, landing at Boston. While the news of his 
arrival in the United States was being conveyed to Gen- 

252 



^nii ^et family 

eral Washington, the boy remained with friends, and 
one authority says attended school at Cambridge. 
Though a just man, General Washington was also a 
very deliberate thinker, and it was not until some time 
after the receipt of Mme. de Lafayette's letter that 
he had weighed the pros and cons of the case sufficiently 
to decide to take her son under his care. Once decided, 
the boy was soon sent for, finding a kind welcome and 
tender hearts awaiting him. To Washington, then past 
his youth, the sight of young Lafayette brought keenly 
to mind those days, nearly twenty years before, when the 
ardent young Frenchman had left wife, home, every- 
thing to bring that much-needed aid to him and those 
who fought in that cause. He would sometimes shake 
his head, scarcely realising that the son, whom he re- 
garded as an infant, only lacked a few years of the 
age his father was when he had first known him. . . . 

The celebrated architect, M. Latrobe, who visited 
Mount Vernon in July, 1798, describes the boy in the 
following words: 

" Young Lafayette with his tutor came down some 
time before dinner. He is a young man of about sev- 
enteen, of a mild pleasing countenance, favourably im- 
pressing at first sight. His figure is rather awkward. 
His manners are easy, and he has very little of the 
usual French air about him. He talked much, espe- 
cially with Miss Custis, and seemed to possess wit and 
fluency. He spoke English tolerably well ; much better, 
indeed, than his tutor, who had had the same oppor- 
tunities of improvement." M. Latrobe speaks of Gen- 
eral Washington, " as treating young Lafayette as a 
child rather than a guest," and he doubtless led a 
healthy and happy life amid the peaceful beauties of 
Mount Vernon. His mother would have suffered less 
at the separation of sending the scarce fifteen-year-old 
boy more than a thousand leagues from her, had she 
been able to see across the chasm of distance, those 
affectionate friends who strove to console him for his 

253 



O^atiame tie Blafapette 

exile. But she had the most powerful consolation pos- 
sible to offer her — the knowledge that such would have 
been her husband's wish. 

Having safely started the boy and received the 
news of his sailing, there was nothing to detain her at 
Paris. Adrienne could not, would not, wait any lon- 
ger, and travelled post to Auvergne, where she in- 
tended to remain a week. Her daughters came as far 
as Vaire, that picturesque village about three leagues 
from Clermont, to meet her whom they had so long 
despaired of ever seeing again in this world. The 
meeting must be imagined. It could not be painted, 
unless rr , • 

1 o mortal it were given, 

To dip his brush in dyes of Heaven. . . . 

In the words of her daughter: "You may fancy 
the ecstasy of our joy on seeing her. She was kind 
enough to partake in it herself so as to give us the hope 
that her happiness was greater than we could have 
dared to expedt." 

On the following day — Sunday — the happily re- 
united mother and daughters went to church, as, in a 
very few places the practice and rites of religion were, 
though slowly and timidly, being resumed. The serv- 
ice was at the tiny hamlet of Montout, nearly a league 
from Vaire, nestled in the mountains. Next day they 
resumed the journey to Chavinac. Though devoted 
to her children, and welcomed with the most extreme 
manifestations of joy by her aunt, " whose side she was 
hardly allowed to leave," so greatly had the old lady 
felt the pain of separation, and so apprehensive was she 
of its renewal, Mme. de Lafayette's chief aim and ob- 
ject was as yet unaccomplished. Her husband was still 
a prisoner. It required great courage to again, so soon, 
separate herself from her family; it seemed selfish to 
bid another farewell to that aged relative, to whom 
there was so little joy left. But what she contemplated 
required all her resources and energy; her impatient 

254 



^nti i^er f amiJp 

spirit would not be delayed in the accomplishment of 
the desire which was paramount. She started, and on 
the way, almost at once, had a joyful and utterly un- 
expected meeting with her sister, Mme. de Grammont. 
This excellent lady's means were so reduced by the 
Revolution that she had not enough money to travel 
post, and would not go in the public conveyances for 
fear she would find herself in company with some of 
the abhorred Terrorists. She had been to Paris on foot 
with her husband in the hope of meeting some one, or 
learning the whereabouts of her long-lost sister, who 
all the family had counted with the dead. They had 
walked from Franche-Comte, and not finding her at 
Paris, were on the way to Auvergne. This meeting 
took place near Brioude, the scene of so many eventful 
happenings, and in some way may have served to dis- 
pel the miserable memories connected with the place. 
The cabriolet in which Mme. de Lafayette was travel- 
ling was going rather slowly, and pulled aside to avoid 
passing too near two persons who were walking. They 
glanced up, as people do on unfrequented country 
roads; the woman who was walking rubbed her eyes, 
looked again at the languid passenger in the shabby 
vehicle. An exclamation which she made caused the 
other to observe her more closely, and one second later, 
with a heartfelt cry of joy, the sisters were locked in 
one another's arms. They could hardly believe it was 
not all a dream, and engaged in such earnest and vehe- 
ment conversation that it was only after the thrice re- 
peated suggestion of M. de Grammont that they could 
continue their conversation and the journey at the same 
time by getting into the cabriolet, they were finally per- 
suaded to start, travelling the rest of the time together, 
sometimes walking to rest themselves, but mostly 
driving. 

They arrived in the height of the stirring events of 
the 1st Prairial (1795). Paris was in such a turmoil 
that there was not much chance to look into or arrange 

255 



£i^dl^dme tie llafapette 

private affairs. In the event of the Jacobins becoming 
all powerful, Mme. de Lafayette had fully decided to 
emigrate; otherwise she would leave no stone unturned 
to get her passport. In this way she would have done 
everything for the preservation of the property which 
still remained to her. For three weeks they awaited 
the result of the stormy contest taking place daily. 
They lived at Clermont, and Mme. de Lafayette occu- 
pied herself in preparing her daughter Virginie for her 
first communion. They finally returned to Paris, hav- 
ing some slight hope of gaining what they wished. 
Owing to the firm and skilful manner in which Boissy 
d'Anglas had saved his country from another reign of 
Terror, he had acquired much influence among his con- 
temporaries. Mme. de Segur wisely took this into con- 
sideration when applying to him to further the requests 
of Mme. de Lafayette. However, it was a slow and 
tedious affair, and before receiving the much-wished-for 
passport she had ample time to arrange her family mat- 
ters. Taking advantage of the law which had restored 
the property of those condemned to the guillotine to 
their families, she took possession for herself and her 
joint heirs, of the estate which had been her mother's. 
Despite the scarcity of money, taking upon herself the 
charitable bequests of Mme. d'Ayen's will, arranging 
the financial affairs of Mme. de Chavinac, who had 
recently been able to purchase Chavinac from those 
who bought it when it was disposed of by the com- 
mittee. M. de Grammont sold some of the jewellery 
belonging to his wife, so that they were able to pay the 
necessary amounts at once. Mme. de Lafayette at the 
same time provided for the numerous old retainers of 
the Noailles family, who had been almost, without ex- 
ception, faithful, and for all those dependent upon her. 
Though compelled to go frequently to Paris, on 
journeys necessitated by business details, she invari- 
ably walked the distance from Fontenay, enjoying the 
exercise and motion, even the sight of the blue sky, 

256 



3lnti ^tt f amilp 

after her many months in prison. Her health was 
good, her hopes high, and she felt no fatigue. Mme. 
de Lafayette passed many hours in fervent prayer, re- 
visiting those churches and oratories where so many 
victims of the Terror had prayed before being seized 
and slaughtered. They were all filled with terrible 
sadness for her; she would weep sorely as some vivid 
recollection of the past came suddenly, all heightened 
tenfold by the cruel fact that once happy and dear 
friends were no more. The visits to Saint-Roch were 
the most cruel of all. There she had prayed as a child, 
worshipped as a wife, seen the marriage of dear sisters, 
knelt side by side with that pious mother ... all was 
changed. Harrowing as these reminiscences were, 
they did her good. The floods of tears relaxed and 
soothed her overstrained nerves from the burden of the 
past few years. Though ever an exceptionally devout 
woman, there is no period of her life when she gave 
as much time, or followed as assiduously, the duties and 
offices of her religion. She was absolutely her own 
mistress, owed no obligations to society; her friends 
were all scattered to the four winds, so she found her 
comfort and solace in the mysterious, stately churches, 
where the incense was again beginning to rise to 
heaven from the defaced altars, and the solemn tones 
of the mass called together those who had survived the 
blasphemous Terror. . . . 

At last came the end of the weary waiting. She 
received the passports. For the first time since the final 
separation from her husband she was happy; happy in 
the knowledge that now she was free to join him; if not 
that, she was free to make the attempt. She had over- 
come obstacles hitherto unsurmountable, so with a light 
heart she prepared to start on her journey. All her 
affairs had been arranged — everything provided for — 
she left Paris gaily. 



257 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE passport was for America. It would have 
been impossible to have procured one for 
Germany, and once safely started, it was 
easy to change the destination. On Septem- 
ber 5, 1795, they embarked on a small American vessel, 
sailing from Dunkirk for Hamburg; landing after a 
voyage of eight days at Altona, near Hamburg. 
Mme. de Lafayette's sister, Mme. de Montagu, was 
living there with their aunt, Mme. de Tesse. The lat- 
ter, having been informed of the arrival of the Lafay- 
ette family, flew headlong to the inn, where she arrived 
just as the travellers were entering. Mme. de Mon- 
tagu's friends tried to break the unexpected and delight- 
ful news, and prepare her for the meeting; but she 
could heed nothing, and the violence of her emotion 
on seeing that adored sister was fearful . . . that they 
should meet again after the agonising sufferings of 
separation ! It was a great sorrow, mingled with joy, 
to talk over all the events which had filled those event- 
ful years since they had met; it consoled them to mingle 
their tears and pray for those they mourned, the very 
misery of their memories affording them comfort. 

The many emigres living at Altona and Hamburg 
came to see the new arrivals, who were able to tell 
them much about their families and about the condition 
of France and home affairs. Others came, too, led by 
a natural curiosity to see those whom misfortune had 
singled for her own. Mme. de Lafayette bore no re- 
sentment against the emigres, though their actions 
toward her husband had not been prompted by friend- 

258 



Sl^atiame tie Hafapette anti J^cr f amilp 

ship. She was an extraordinary woman. " It is in- 
conceivable to have loved so much, and never to have 
felt in any circumstances the slightest bitterness of feel- 
ing against those who calumniated and persecuted the 
object of all her affections. She viewed the conduct 
of those who had wronged her with indulgent impar- 
tiality, and in the course of her troubled life, this dis- 
position never altered." Still with her unchangeable, 
unaccomplished purpose in view, she made but a short 
stay at Altona. She had experienced much joy in the 
society of her sister and aunt, but her heart lay in that 
gloomy dungeon, and, like the heart of Bruce, which 
his faithful follower had thrown before him into the 
midst of battle, and fought Paynim hosts to regain, 
she must strive until she was victorious. 

Having obtained her passport from Mr. Parish, 
the American consul at Hamburg, she was ready to 
start, travelling under the name of Motier, citizen of 
Hartford, Conn., as this was one of the States in 
which General Lafayette and his family were natural- 
ised. They were obliged to travel with a servant who 
spoke German, as it was not alone necessary that they 
should travel without a suspicion of their identity be- 
coming known, but also concealing their nationality, as 
at that time no French man or woman was allowed to 
enter Austria. They arrived at Vienna, bearing letters 
to M. de Cobentzel's sister, the Comtesse de Rumbeck. 
This lady received Mme. de Lafayette with great pleas- 
ure, giving her a warm welcome, proving the " excel- 
lence of her heart and amiable disposition " by the way 
in which she made herself of use to one who was a 
stranger in all but name. Mme. de Rumbeck advised 
her visitor to address the old Prince de Rosemberg, 
Grand Chamberlain, who had formerly known mem- 
bers of her family, particularly her uncle, long ambas- 
sador to the court of Vienna. This Mme. de Lafayette 
did, meeting him under her assumed name of Motier, 
and telling him later who she really was. Much moved 

259 



or^abame be Hafapette 

by her story, he was able by his position in the royal 
household to obtain for her an interview with the em- 
peror, and this, unknown to any of the ministers, he 
did. Accompanied by her daughters she saw the emper- 
or, who received her with much politeness. She merely 
made a request to share her husband's captivity. The 
emperor replied: 

" I grant it to you. As for his liberty, that would 
be impossible — my hands are tied." 

She thanked him for the favour she had just re- 
ceived, and said that " the wives of her husband's 
friends, imprisoned with him at Olmiitz, would envy 
her happiness." 

The emperor replied: " They have only to act like 
you. I shall do the same for them." 

Mme. de Lafayette then said that she " had heard 
of several vexations in the Prussian prisons, and she 
begged the emperor to allow her to address herself di- 
rectly to him for any requests she might have to make." 

He answered: "I consent. But you will find M. 
de Lafayette well treated. I hope you will do me jus- 
tice. Your presence will give him fresh satisfaction. 
Anyhow, you will be pleased with the commanding 
officer. In gaol the prisoners are only distinguished by 
their numbers, but as for your husband, his name is 
well known." 

Almost delirious with the joyful thought that at 
last she would soon be reunited to her imprisoned hus- 
band, she left the audience chamber and prayed de- 
voutly that night for the emperor who had granted her 
this great boon. As the order admitting her to the 
prison had to be sent to Olmiitz and acknowledged, 
there must necessarily be some delay, and she passed 
the intervening eight days in visiting Mme. de Win- 
dischgratz and Mme. d'Ursel, both relations of Mme. 
Auguste d'Aremberg (the Comtesse de la Marck who 
then bore that name) and the dearest friend she had 
outside the family. Mme. de Lafayette was over- 

260 



^nti i^er f amilp 

whelmed with kindness by these two ladies, and often 
reproached herself, Heaven knows why ! " of think- 
ing only of her own happiness, and not working in view 
of her husband's liberation." In consequence, she 
called upon M. de Thugut, the prime minister. Dur- 
ing and after this interview her heart re-echoed the 
gratitude she felt toward M. de Rosemberg for the 
interview which he had arranged on his sole respon- 
sibility. She was received politely by M. de Thugut, 
but there was a feeling of constraint throughout the 
conversation. All his diplomatic powers of dissem- 
bling could not conceal the fact that he hated the pris- 
oner at Olmiitz. It was at this time that the exchange 
of the Duchesse d'Angouleme for the Conventionelles 
Deputies, captured by the Austrians, was effected. 
Mme. de Lafayette did not suggest the inconsistency 
of detaining captive one who had been proscribed for 
defending Louis XVI, while setting free those who had 
voted his death. She would have considered it un- 
christian to say a disparaging word of a prisoner. 
The audience with the prime minister was not success- 
ful, and quite unimportant in its results. 

Finally, the permission she had so long desired, 
hoped, and wished for, the order, admitting her into 
the prison of Olmiitz, was delivered into her hands by 
M. de Ferraris, minister of war. He was a man in 
whose composition there were no Utopian dreams, and 
he strongly advised her to desist from her present 
course. The prison life would be hard and confining, 
and might have serious consequences for herself and 
her daughters. He meant the advice kindly; more 
probably wished the prisoner to remain in uncheered 
solitude. Mme. de Lafayette did not even listen to 
him. She had waited years for this moment, and as 
the time for seeing her husband grew shorter, the very 
minutes were as hours. . . . She started immediately, 
on October i, 1795. The journey being bare of inci- 
dent, the only contretemps, an accident to their travel- 

261 



£t^dtiame tie Eafapette 

ling carriage, which made it necessary to finish the last 
day in one of the open vehicles of the country, found 
at every post-house. They arrived at Olmiitz on the 
second day after leaving Vienna. With what mingled 
emotions they beheld the pointed steeples of the town, 
shown to them by the post-boy, would be hard — nay, 
impossible — to explain. Mme. de Lafayette's emo- 
tions almost overcame her ; she was choked by her tears. 
As soon as she recovered herself she thanked God in 
the well-known words of Tobit's prayer beginning: 
" Blessed be the God that liveth forever, and blessed 
be his Kingdom." At eleven o'clock they entered Ol- 
miitz, driving at once to the house occupied by the com- 
mander of the town. They did not meet him person- 
ally, but he sent the officer in charge of the prison to 
conduct them. Mme. de Lafayette's own words, on 
the eve of the eventful day of meeting were, " I cannot 
fancy how one can go through what is awaiting us to- 
morrow," but joy seldom kills. 

They were admitted through the first door, which 
was locked even on the guard. They passed through 
long, gloomy stone passages, a veritable labyrinth 
of seeming catacombs . . . then . . . came the last 
locked door. . . . 

Picture to yourself an ambitious man who had been 
confined for years, who knew not what had happened 
in the country which he loved so well, was ignorant if 
his dear ones lived or had died . . . who could see no 
hope of his liberation, no hope anywhere, sitting sadly, 
head on hand, and, hearing the creak of the heavy iron 
locks, the harsh rasping of the door, opening on its un- 
willing hinges, awakened from his revery by the noise 
at this unusual hour, looking up languidly with a glance 
of silent inquiry ... to behold his wife and daugh- 
ters. . . . 

" Judge," wrote Mme. de Lafayette, " what must 
have been the sensations of M. de Lafayette, from 
whom had been kept the tidings if we still existed, 

262 



anti ^tt f amilp 

when, without a preparation, he saw us enter his 
room." 

There was much to tell. Of the three years of cap- 
tivity, one having been spent in complete solitude, even 
the attentions of his servant being denied him, for, 
since the unsuccessful attempt at escape, the prisoner 
had been treated with unwarrantable severity. He was 
greatly changed in appearance, as a man must be who 
had passed three years in such fearful and constant 
anxiety, without the slightest news from the outside 
world. Added to this was the terrible cells in which 
he had been lodged. He longed to make a thousand 
inquiries of his wife, but hesitated, for fear of the an- 
swers he might receive, and because he saw the terrible 
state of excitement under which she laboured. He 
asked no questions, and the day passed happily in the 
mere joy of being once more reunited after those many 
bitter hours when the heart of each despaired ever 
meeting till the far-off day of resurrection. It was in 
the quiet night, after the devoted daughters had been 
locked in the adjoining, but not communicating room, 
that she told her husband, with tears and the dry sobs 
of that grief which is beyond expression, the details 
of her mother's death, of the tragic fate of her sister 
and grandmother. The heart of the patriot exiled 
Frenchman bled at the recital of the excesses, the enor- 
mities of the crimes of his countrymen. He was loyal 
to la belle France, but those monsters who had made 
her name a synonym for wanton slaughter his arm 
could not have been too ready to strike down, while 
cursing them for the disgrace they had brought upon 
their country in the name of Liberte. During his cap- 
tivity Lafayette had suffered much, and the general 
debility of his appearance very forcibly struck his wife 
and daughters, who had parted from him when he was 
in good health. He had been through one very dan- 
gerous illness while imprisoned at Wesel, and so in- 
humanly was he treated that his lifelong friend and 

263 



Sl^atiame tie Eafapettr 

fellow prisoner, M. de Maubourg, could not obtain 
permission to see him. The King of Prussia, thinking 
to tempt Lafayette, offered some privileges which 
would have greatly bettered his condition, in return for 
plans which he could furnish against France, but the 
general replied in such terms of impassioned contempt 
to the proposition that he was henceforth treated with 
even greater rigour than formerly. This was before 
he was confined at Olmiitz. After being captured by 
the Austrians they — Lafayette, Maubourg, and Pusy 
— were first sent to Wesel. In a letter from Lafayette, 
written later, he said: "It is unknown what sufferings 
have been inflicted on us by the Coalition, but what are 
these sufferings to the pain a heart devoted to liberty 
feels from the injustice on the people." 

By the study of historical events in the last several 
hundred — or thousands — of years, the fact is very 
strongly suggested to the cynically minded that the 
patriot is appreciated almost less than any other class 
of man. He is used as a sort of leaven to raise the 
bread of benefit for his fellow-man; and this having 
been accomplished, is usually left in the rush of anarchy 
which follows, to shift for himself, and, as he is not 
of the class to whom political upheaval brings riches, 
he has the pleasure of surveying from a solitary emi- 
nence the havoc which his wrongly applied doctrines 
have wrought, and to console himself with the knowl- 
edge that his all is gone; or, failing this, exile and the 
scaffold when his ideas are too scrupulous to be dealt 
with in any less convincing manner. Soon after this 
event they were removed to Magdebourg, all infor- 
mation in reference to their families, or on any sub- 
ject, being refused them. On account of the proscrip- 
tions taking place in France, their anxiety was terrible. 
They were, in all but the physical fact, dead men. The 
year at Magdebourg was passed in a damp, dark, un- 
healthy dungeon, surrounded by high palisades and 
closed by a succession of four heavy gates, fastened 

264 



^nti i^er f amiip 

with bolts and iron chains. By a sudden and unex- 
plained order from the King of Prussia, Lafayette was 
sent to Niess. The request of Latour-Maubourg to be 
sent there also was not granted. He was sent to Gratz, 
where shortly after Bureaux de Pusy joined him. The 
friends were thus scattered, and not again imprisoned 
together until the frowning walls of Olmiitz engulfed 
them all. This was consequent of the peace between 
the King of Prussia and the French Republic. The 
former being unwilling that the peace which he was 
forced to conclude with France should oblige him to 
release those unfortunate men, promptly gave them to 
the Austrians, who, with equal celerity, put them in 
Olmiitz. Naturally, they could not expect good treat- 
ment from that country; they were Frenchmen, and 
Frenchmen had murdered the daughter of Maria The- 
resa, the descendant of the Caesars, the aunt of the 
present king. 

On transferring them to their separate cells, it was 
declared to each, that " they would never for the future 
see more than the four surrounding walls; they would 
receive no information about things or persons; that 
their gaolers were prohibited from pronouncing their 
names, and that in the government dispatches they 
would be referred to merely by their numbers; that they 
would never have the satisfaction of knowing of their 
families or their reciprocal existence; and that as such 
a situation naturally incited suicide, knives, forks, and 
every means of destruction were to be withheld from 
them." 

It took the certificates of three physicians to gain 
Lafayette the privilege, or, as they stated, the vital 
necessity, of breathing a little pure air, for his dun- 
geon was dank and foul. The authorities declared 
each time that he was not yet so very ill, but finally 
he was granted permission for a short walk, being 
closely watched all the time. In 1793 that tireless 
friend. Count Lally-Tollendal, while in London, en- 

265 



SS^atiame t»c Eafapette 

gaged one Dr. BoUman, a Hanoverian of great cour- 
age and unceasing perseverance, to effect the escape of 
M. de Lafayette. This Dr. Bollman had before ar- 
ranged the means of rescuing Count Narbonne — that 
nobleman having been proscribed, and only saved 
through the aid of Mme. de Stael, under whose direc- 
tions Bollman acted. He very cleverly succeeded in 
getting the count out of France, conducting him to 
England. 

It took a long time for Bollman to find out defi- 
nitely where Lafayette was actually imprisoned, and 
only after the most minute inquiries did he learn that 
he and his fellow prisoners had been delivered to the 
Austrian authorities. With this meagre knowledge he 
returned to London. He was sent over again, in June, 
1794, to ascertain if Lafayette was living, and if so to 
effect his escape. With great difficulty Bollman suc- 
ceeded in tracing the prisoners to the Prussian frontier; 
and, when almost in despair and at his wit's end, hap- 
pened to find that they had been removed by an Aus- 
trian escort, which took the road leading to Olmiitz. 
Going there, Bollman learned, through the gossip of 
the village, that there were state prisoners in the castle, 
guarded with an elaborate mystery which would have 
made the Man in the Iron Mask look to his laurels had 
that worthy been still living. Having fully satisfied 
himself as to the identity of the prisoners, Bollman went 
to Vienna, there mixing much in society, particularly 
that of young Americans, finally finding one courageous 
dashing spirit to join him in the hazardous enterprise. 

Francis Huger was the son of Colonel Huger, of 
Charlestown, S. C, who had welcomed Lafayette on 
that stormy night when the gallant noble for the first 
time set foot upon the shores of America. The tem- 
pestuous winds and high-running seas had driven the 
vessel of the adventurous Frenchman to seek shelter 
In a small bay; and, with his crew scattered to seek 
assistance, the marquis had himself done likewise, for- 

266 



^nli i^er f amtlp 

tune leading his steps to this hospitable door. He 
formed a friendship with Colonel Huger which lasted 
until the early death of the latter. Though a child of 
four at the time, the events of that evening had always 
been, from constant and repeated telling, deeply im- 
printed on young Huger's mind, and he eagerly jumped 
at the opportunity of helping liberate one of whom his 
father had thought so highly. The Austrian authori- 
ties were so terribly vigilant that it was necessary to 
use the utmost caution in their proceedings. They 
purchased three of the finest horses to be found, and 
with one servant, started on a tour, Huger taking the 
part of an invalid, and Bollman the physician in at- 
tendance, travelling to look after his health. After 
roving several weeks in the aimless manner peculiar 
to the whims of an invalid, they finally, as if by chance, 
arrived at Olmiitz. Once there, they went on a sight- 
seeing walk through the town, including the fortifica- 
tions of the castle, where they entered into conversa- 
tion with the gaoler, arranging with him that they 
should be allowed to see the interior the next day, which 
they did, frequently repeating the visits, until their ap- 
pearance ceased to be of interest. They became very 
friendly after many conversations with the gaoler, care- 
lessly asking him about the prisoners who were in his 
charge, not betraying the slightest surprise or any 
symptoms of consciousness when he mentioned, among 
others, the name of Lafayette. The man volunteered 
some details of his confinement, mentioning the fact 
that he was allowed to have books. This was the 
opening they had long desired, but they merely men- 
tioned, most casually, that they had some few papers 
and periodicals which, as travellers, they had no desire 
to keep ; perhaps they might be of some amusement to 
the prisoner? The gaoler saw no objections, if the 
books were sent open to his inspection. That evening 
they sent the books, also a note, written in French, 
apologising for the liberty they were taking; begging 

267 



<^atiame tie Hafapette 

him to read the books they sent, and if his attention 
or fancy was particularly drawn to any passage, that 
he would let them know his opinion. The gaoler could 
not understand French, but could see no harm in a note 
which he was allowed to read. The prisoner received 
his book. 

After scanning this most unexpected communica- 
tion, Lafayette quickly took up the book, reading it 
carefully, to find here and there words written lightly 
in pencil. These being put together, made him cog- 
nisant of what was now being done for his liberation; 
and, that they should know his sentiments in the mat- 
ter, before going further in their plan of rescue, he 
replied in an open note, thanking them for their kind- 
ness, and adding that he was much charmed with the 
book and approved greatly of its contents. This was 
the first of many innocent missives which were permit- 
ted to go to and fro, even after the gaoler had shown 
them to persons who could read. Thus wedge after 
wedge was driven in, the final details of the plan being 
written in lime juice on the back of a note of inquiry 
for Lafayette's health, which concluded with these 
words: " Quand vous aurez lu ce billet, mettez la au 
feu,^' instead of " dans le feu^ By holding the paper 
to the fire he was able to learn all his friends had 
planned. 

The long-projected escape was to be carried Into 
effect the following day. Olmiitz is situated in the 
midst of a plain, being bounded by some rising ground 
and a few shrubs, but so open that the sentry on the 
castle walls was able to command a view of the country 
for miles in every direction. This made the attempt 
doubly difScult. Lafayette, upon the plea that his 
health was not good and required more air, which was, 
Heaven knows, true ! had obtained permission to drive 
every day, in an open cabriolet, accompanied by an 
officer, an armed soldier being on the box for greater 
safety. Lafayette and the officer, whose confidence he 

268 



^nb J^er f amilp 

had gained, often used to leave the carnage and walk 
about the plain. On the day which was to be that of 
the rescue, Bollman and his companion, riding leisurely 
along, saw the cabriolet with the prisoner and the of- 
ficer drive out on to the plain, where, according to cus- 
tom, they walked to and fro, arm in arm. They then 
seemed to be absorbed in earnest conversation about the 
officer's sword, which he had in his hand. Consider- 
ing this a favourable moment, Bollman and Huger put 
spurs to their horses and galloped up. On hearing 
them the officer immediately tried to pull Lafayette 
into the cabriolet, and get his sword away from him. 
The struggle was so severe that Lafayette received a 
serious strain, and also had the flesh torn from one 
hand down to the bone. 

Huger came up at this moment. " Seize the horse, 
and fortune be our guide ! " he cried. Alas ! even as 
he spoke the sun, flashing on the sword, alarmed the 
already excited horse, who reared, broke his bridle, 
and tore madly over the plain. Bollman rode in fruit- 
less pursuit. Huger, with a gallantry and generosity 
" seldom equalled, but never excelled," forced Lafay- 
ette to take his horse and make all speed to the rendez- 
vous. 

" Lose no time, the alarm has been given, the peas- 
ants are assembling — save yourself!" 

With a hasty word of thanks, he was on the horse 
and off. Dr. Bollman, giving up further pursuit of 
the runaway, returned, pulling Huger up behind him, 
and galloped away. But the horse, not being equal 
to the double burden, stumbled and fell. Almost 
stunned and severely bruised, for they had been riding 
at breakneck speed, Huger made Bollman mount 
again, begging him to follow and assist Lafayette, 
which he could not do if they both attempted to ride; 
while he, being a good runner, could easily hide in the 
woody country near by. It was with the utmost reluc- 
tance that Bollman consented. There was no time for 

269 



!3l^atiame tie Stafaprtte 

delay, as the soldiers and peasants were almost upon 
them. Though a wonderfully swift runner, Huger 
was — or allowed himself finally to be — caught, hoping 
thereby to distract his pursuers from Lafayette. 

Meanwhile Lafayette galloped swiftly along, the 
pain from his torn and lacerated hand unheeded. He 
was exhilarated by the fresh air and rapid motion, the 
thought that he was again free. About ten miles from 
Olmiitz, at a small town, the road divided; the right 
led to Trappaw, he unfortunately took the left. Hardly 
had he passed a mile beyond the town than he noticed 
that the road led too much to the left. Suspecting that 
he had taken the wrong turning, he Inquired of a peas- 
ant whom he met on the road to Beautroppe. This 
man, noticing his foreign accent, the disorder of his 
dress, and the state of his horse, suspected that he was 
a prisoner making his escape, and purposely directed 
him to take a road which, by a detour^ led back to the 
town. This man then ran across the country, and 
when Lafayette arrived at the town, from where he 
expected to start anew, he was surrounded by throngs 
of excited peasants, who insisted that he should go 
before the magistrate. His answers to that dignitary 
were so calm and collected that he was puzzled. La- 
fayette said he was an officer of excise, belonging to 
Trappaw, who had friends In Olmiitz, where he had 
been visiting. Having been detained there by indisposi- 
tion, he was obliged to hurry back, as he was afraid his 
absence from Trappaw would be noticed, and he would 
lose his place. So simple was the story, and so earnest 
the manner of the supposed officer that the balance of 
justice had begun to decline, when a young man entered 
with some papers for which he required the magis- 
trate's signature. While this was being written, the 
newcomer looked intently at Lafayette, and when the 
magistrate laid down his quill and scattered the dry- 
ing sand over the writing, stooped and whispered a 
few words in his ear. The representative of local jus- 

270 



^nti J^er ifamilp 

tice sat up as if he had heard an unusually loud clap 
of thunder. 

" Who do you say he is? " 

" The General Lafayette " — proud of the sensation 
he was making. 

" How do you know him? " persisted justice, ever 
cautious. 

" I was present when the general was delivered by 
the Prussians to the Austrians. He is the man. I can- 
not be mistaken." 

Pale at the thought that he might have let one so 
illustrious slip through his fingers, the magistrate re- 
fused to listen to Lafayette's entreaties or protestations. 
He was sent to Olmiitz under close guard and once 
more imprisoned in that miserable dungeon. The dar- 
ing Bollman, finding all was lost, finally gave himself 
up, and was, with Huger, imprisoned for many a weary 
month. After a farcical trial, they managed to secure 
pardon by long and tedious negotiations, paying the 
magistrate " fifty pieces," the money being supplied by 
a generous Russian nobleman living in the vicinity. 
This being arranged successfully, the impartial and in- 
corruptible (?) judge first fixed the period of their 
imprisonment at fourteen years, then seven, soon after 
shortened to one — as the injustice of their detention ap- 
pealed to his legal mind — to a month, to a week, after 
which they were released. 

The reason for the extreme harshness which the 
Austrian Government showed toward the daring ad- 
venturers lay in the fact that they believed the release 
of Lafayette to be a deep-laid plot on the part of the 
other powers, as they could not conceive how two men 
could have the courage, the intrepidity, to attempt, alone 
and almost unarmed, such a rescue. So much for Aus- 
trian justice! 



271 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE life of those courageous women who had 
chosen to share the lot of their husband and 
father was one of the greatest hardships 
and privations, of total isolation from the 
rest of the world. On entering the prison, the authori- 
ties asked for their purses, their luggage was searched, 
and three silver forks found there confiscated, which 
obliged them for the whole time they remained in 
prison to eat with their fingers, the use of knives and 
forks being strictly forbidden. They were not allowed 
to have a woman to do the commonest and most me- 
nial work, and the ordinary duties of the household 
had to be performed by Mme. de Lafayette and her 
uncomplaining daughters. The doors of the prison 
opened only to admit the officer on his visits of inspec- 
tion, and to allow the entrance of the soldiers bearing 
their meals. 

The appartement occupied by M. de Lafayette 
was in what had formerly been the convent barracks 
of the Jesuits. His rooms were on the ground floor, 
and had a good view, giving on a high rampart look- 
ing south. He was allowed two rooms — one vaulted, 
twelve feet high and twenty-four feet long, by sixteen 
wide, opened into a similar room used as an ante-cham- 
ber. These were lighted by a window, eight by four, 
one in either appartement, and which were covered 
by massive iron gratings to prevent escape. The upper 
part of the window was closed, and fastened with a 
heavy iron padlock, but the lower half could be opened 
for air at will. What made these rooms so painfully 

272 



Sr^atiame Jje Hafapette anti ^tt f amilp 

unbearable was the fact that all the sewers from the 
citadel drained into the moat, which was shallow, some- 
times dry, and every change of air brought with it 
fearful odours. It was so offensive that the guards 
who brought food to the prisoners were obliged to hold 
their noses when they entered the room, but no one 
thought of the poor prisoners. The furniture consisted 
of a bed, which was Lafayette's own property, a table, 
some chairs, a chest of drawers, and a stove. Mme. 
de Lafayette and her daughters were allowed but one 
room, the sisters being forced to sleep together; even 
when one of them became very ill, the authorities re- 
fused the request for another bed. One would think 
that a sense of shame might have induced those in 
power to treat with some decency, or even common 
humanity, those women, who were neither prisoners 
nor malefactors. MM. Maubourg and de Pusy were 
lodged similarly to their friend; and the servants had 
rooms no better, no worse, but with less furniture. 
After Lafayette's attempt to escape, he was not per- 
mitted to have his servant in attendance, and he and his 
family were waited upon by the soldiers. His friends 
fared better. Latour-Maubourg had his servant for 
two hours daily. M. de Pusy, for some reason, was 
not allowed his for nearly two months at the begin- 
ning of his imprisonment. For the last twenty-one 
months he was allowed to see him for three hours a 
day. Their food, which they paid for themselves, was 
in sufficient quantities, and not always unappetising, 
though as It came from the canteen of a very dirty vi- 
vandier just outside the fortress, it was far from being 
tempting to the prisoners. In fact, they " found It gen- 
erally strongly tinged with the flavour of tobacco, and 
were lucky indeed if they did not find large pieces of the 
weed in the dishes themselves ! " The dishes were so 
dirty that they could scarcely bring themselves to eat. 
" For breakfast they had coffee or chocolate, as desired. 
For dinner, soup, boiled beef, a ragout or vegetables, 

273 



flt^atiame tie Eafapmc 

roast meat, salade, dessert, and a bottle of red Hun- 
garian wine. At supper they had a roast meat, salade, 
and a half bottle of wine. The attendance of the mili- 
tary surgeon was theirs in case of need, and what me- 
dicaments could be given them within the limits of their 
rooms was allowed. That was all." 

The oft-repeated and simple request of Mme. de 
Lafayette to the authorities was refused. Her great- 
est deprivation was in not being allowed to hear Mass, 
though the church adjoined the prison, and she could 
have been well guarded. So deep were her feelings 
at the refusal of this last — and most reasonable — re- 
quest, that she wrote to the Minister of War, M. de 
Ferraris, with whom she had a slight acquaintance, 
having met him at his sisters', Mesdames de 
Windischgratz and d'Ursel, whom she visited at 
Vienna. 

December 14, 1795. 

" The Major, having for the second time brought 
me pen and ink, the first to answer my father, the sec- 
ond my aunt and sisters, whose letters have at last been 
delivered to me, I think it my duty, M. le Comte, to 
take this opportunity of renewing a request made three 
days after my arrival — viz., leave to attend Mass with 
my daughters. It had never appeared to me that this 
request could be thought unreasonable, but you would 
give me great pleasure by sending a favourable answer 
before Christmas. You will have been, I suppose, so- 
licited to grant us leave to see our two friends by Mme. 
Windischgratz, to whom, according to my promise, I 
wrote the first time I was provided with the means of 
doing so. This is also a question of the deepest inter- 
est to me. How much could I say were I to speak of 
my too well founded anxieties with respect to M. de 
Lafayette's health ! But the hope of soon seeing him 
free, for freedom would be the best remedy, makes 
me defer dwelling long on that subject. 

274 



" Pardon my Importunity, and receive, M. le 
Comte, etc. . . . 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

She received, almost immediately, the following 
answer : 

" Madame la Marquise : I have this moment re- 
ceived the letter you did me the honour of writing to 
me on the fourteenth of the month. I am utterly un- 
aware to whom you addressed the request to hear Mass 
at Olmiitz. I have not myself the means of complying 
with your desire, notwithstanding my desire to do so. 
I can only observe that, as you consented to share your 
husband's lot, it will not be possible for you to obtain 
any change in your situation. 

" Receive, Madame la Marquise, the assurances of 
the respectful feelings," etc. . . . 

With her usual intrepidity she did not allow the 
matter to rest here, again writing to the Minister of 
War: 

" I have the honour to thank you, M. le Comte, for 
your civility in answering my letter as soon as It was 
allowed to reach you. I am also very grateful for the 
regret you express for not being able to grant my re- 
quests. I made them to the Commander at Olmiitz, 
because his Imperial Majesty told me that it was to 
him I was to apply. I had to put them in writing, hav- 
ing no means of seeing him. I asked ist: to go to 
Mass, for it is my duty to do all that lies In my power 
to attend divine service on Sundays and holy days ; 2nd, 
to be waited upon by a servant, for I heard at Vienna 
that the members of the Convention who had been 
delivered up to you, when they had servants were al- 
lowed to see them here all day long, and I flattered 
myself that the same favour might be granted to me 
at least for some moments; 3rd, I had also asked that 

275 



a^aijame t»c Eafapettc 

MM. Pusy and Latour-Maubourg might pass some 
hours with us, because in the various French prisons 
where, as you know, I was confined during sixteen 
months, I had been in the habit of seeing the prisoners 
communicate with each other. Excuse me, M. le 
Comte, for having expected so much. 

" I acknowledge with the greatest pleasure, that we 
are bound to share all the hardships of M. de Lafay- 
ette's captivity, and that was the only favour we so- 
licited. Our feelings are not changed, and we all three 
repeat with all our heart that we are happier with M. 
de Lafayette even in this prison, than anywhere else 
without him. But to justify the liberty I have taken, 
I will remind you, M. le Comte, that his Imperial 
Majesty, in the audience he granted me, had the kind- 
ness to tell me that I should find M. de Lafayette well 
treated, and that, in case I should have any request to 
make, I should be satisfied with the Commander. 

" I shall also have the honour to remind you that 
his Majesty had allowed me to write directly to him 
by addressing my letters to the Prince de Rosemberg. 
As since we have been confined here, it has been impos- 
sible for me to find the means of doing so, I thought 
myself authorised to forward to you my requests, and 
I beg you will excuse me if you have found them un- 
reasonable. Would you kindly give a thousand tender 
compliments to Mmes. Windischgratz and d'Ursel? 
Tell them that my daughters' health, notwithstanding 
the want of air and exercise, is pretty good. My own 
is in a bad state, and if the refusal of such simple re- 
quests as those I have already made did not disgust me 
from making fresh ones, I should think it my duty, M. 
le Comte, to ask for permission for the necessary pass- 
ports to go for eight or ten days to Vienna, leaving 
my daughters with their father, in order to consult on 
my case doctors who would certainly tell you that such 
a request is not out of season. If you think it is In 
your power to give me a favourable answer, I shall 

276 



anti iper f amilp 

be most obliged to you. But whatever may be the state 
of my health, I should wish not to have much more 
alarming anxieties for the prisoner whom we are so 
happy to have joined at last. 

" Receive, M. le Comte," etc. . . . 

M. de Ferraris' s Reply. 

January 26, 1796. 

" I am most flattered, Mme. la Marquise, that you 
have been satisfied with my wish to oblige you. I can- 
not go further in the desire I shall always have to give 
you proofs of my respect. . . . Neither the Council 
of War nor myself can grant the requests of State pris- 
oners. We have no other office than to see that they 
are watched according to His Imperial Majesty's or- 
ders. It is therefore to that monarch you must address 
yourself since he has deigned to permit you to do so. 

" I beg you will receive, Mme. la Marquise," 
etc. ... 

Viewing these matters with an impartial eye, after 
this lapse of time, it is inconceivable why such harsh 
treatment was inflicted on a woman and her daughters, 
merely because they were brave and steadfast enough 
to share the captivity of one they loved. They were not 
political prisoners, they were guilty of no crime in the 
eye of any law. It is unlikely that the governor of 
Olmiitz or the emperor had any special personal enmity 
against them, though, this being the case, why did they 
not alleviate the rigour of the treatment when requested 
to do so by Mme. de Lafayette? All through the Im- 
prisonment of Lafayette there seems to have been some 
secret foe at work. It was not England. There were 
too many admirers of the gallant Frenchman, once fight- 
ing with the foe of England in that war where so many 
Englishmen questioned the judgment of their sover- 
eign. There were uplifted voices which rang in praise 

277 



0^atiame tie Hafapette 

of " that heart which never for a moment ceased to 
glow with a sacred fire of the purest and most relig- 
ious patriotism." America, in the person of her repre- 
sentatives, tried repeatedly to rescue him, the Ameri- 
can ministers at all foreign courts having instructions 
to use every available opportunity to intercede for his 
release. 

The envoy at the court of Saint James worked tire- 
lessly. Lafayette's old friend and admirer, Count 
Lally-ToUendal, who had been a member of the Na- 
tional Assembly while his friend sat there, left no stone 
unturned. George Washington, then President of the 
United States, addressed a private letter to the Em- 
peror of Austria, requesting that he should be liber- 
ated and allowed to come to the United States. 

" It will readily occur to Your Majesty," he wrote, 
" that occasions may sometimes exist on which official 
considerations would constrain the chief of a Nation to 
be silent and passive in relation even to objects which 
affect his sensibility, and claim his interposition as a 
man. Finding myself precisely in this situation at the 
present, I have taken the liberty of writing this private 
letter to Your Majesty, being persuaded that my mo- 
tives will also be my apology for it. 

" In common with the people of this country, I 
retain a strong and cordial sense of the services ren- 
dered to them by the Marquis de Lafayette, and my 
friendship for him has been constant and sincere. It 
is natural, therefore, that I should sympathise with 
him and his family in their misfortunes, and endeavour 
to mitigate the calamities they experience, among which 
his present confinement is not the least distressing. 

" I forbear to enlarge on this delicate subject. 
Permit me only to submit to Your Majesty's considera- 
tion whether the long imprisonment and the confis- 
cation of his estate, and the indigence and indisposition 
of his family, and the painful anxieties incident to all 
these circumstances, do not form an assemblage of 

278 



^ttH ^tt f amilp 

sufferings which recommend him to the mediation of all 
humanity? Allow me, Sir, on this occasion to be its 
organ ; and to entreat that he may be permitted to come 
to this country on such conditions as Your Majesty may 
think it expedient to prescribe. 

"As it is a maxim with me not to ask what under 
similar circumstances I would not grant. Your Majesty 
will do me the justice to believe that this request ap- 
pears to me to correspond with those great principles 
of magnanimity and wisdom which form the basis of 
sound policy and durable glory." 

There is no reply of the emperor's to be found, and 
nothing was done to ameliorate the condition of the 
prisoner. 

It seems odd that though France passed through 
so many administrations, each diametrically opposed to 
every idea of the one previously in power, they were 
unanimously in accord on the subject of imprisonment. 
Lafayette knew too much, and too intimately, the ante- 
cedents of the so-called " patriots," those Republicans, 
each waiting to grasp the crown of France, could he 
but distance his associates. The " patriots " had mur- 
dered their king and their queen " in the name of lib- 
erty ! " La Liberie in her turn had murdered the peo- 
ple in hundreds, in thousands, in hundreds of thou- 
sands. Patriotism had ceased to play a part in the farce. 
All the great benefits which Jacques Bonhomme had 
been promised by those Inciting him to stain his hands 
and make his nation a synonym for bloodshed and ruf- 
fianism, where were they? The country was in a fear- 
ful condition, none knew what would come next. The 
French, of all nations, is one to be firmly ruled. Lov- 
ing the pomp and pageant of glittering power, it is not 
of the temperament to be awed by simple and quiet 
authority. Its soldiers must charge with intimidating 
clatter of sabre and jangle of accoutrement. It loves 
its main de fer gantee en velour^ but the glove must 
be of gorgeous velvet, stiff with gold and embroidery. 

279 



flr^atiame tie Eafapette 

It requires a ruler alive to every mood of its complex 
mercurial character. The hour furnished the man — 
Napoleon. He was not of royal, not even of noble, 
birth; he was of the people, and yet was there ever 
king more autocratic? He ruled by the force of his 
personality. He had no precedent, neither father nor 
grandfather, on whose royal edicts to found his decrees. 
He ruled from the code of justice. He took France 
at her worst and made her what she has never been 
before or since . . . and will not be again until an- 
other Napoleon Bonaparte comes to the front. The 
masses of his countrymen adored him — for the time 
being — as they had cheered and idolised others; but 
the cheers sank into hisses, the gestures of enthusiasm 
changed to motions of weapon-filled hands; jeering 
comments took the place of former paeans of praise, as 
the laurels withered on the once victorious brow. 



At this period, strangely contradictory as it may 
seem, Mme. de Lafayette was perfectly happy. Her 
object was achieved; she was once again united to her 
adored husband, and with him more than had ever been 
the case before. Almost since the day of their youthful 
marriage the call of patriotism and duty had torn him 
incessantly from her side. He had been the love, the 
idol of her life since she was fourteen, and this was prac- 
tically the first time during all the years of her wedded 
life that she could devote herself wholly to him, to 
enjoy his companionship without fear of interruption. 
Poor woman ! for the past three years she had not been 
able even to cherish the hope that they should meet 
again ! So, despite the sordid surroundings, the miser- 
able discomforts of the confinement, she was so peace- 
fully happy that she constantly reproached herself for 
being contented, with her husband still a prisoner. It 
grieved her greatly that she was unable to improve the 
lot of her fellow sufferers. 

280 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

She was allowed to write letters to her bankers to 
procure money to pay for their food, and also short 
letters to her sister, Mme. de Montagu, but as these 
were read by one of the officers, the correspondence 
was of necessity very stiff and formal. Adrienne prob- 
ably would have written notes explaining only her hap- 
piness In being reunited to M. de Lafayette, but that 
sense of duty so predominant in her nature forced her 
to describe, Instead, the unhappy condition of the pris- 
oners, thereby hoping to better their lot. It greatly 
annoyed her on one occasion, having written a letter 
to her son on the second page of her usual letter to the 
banker, to have it returned to her, as the Austrian au- 
thorities did not wish any information of the condition 
of things at Olmiitz to reach the United States, par- 
ticularly to be received by young Lafayette, then liv- 
ing under the care of General Washington. She occu- 
pied herself many hours, writing with a toothpick and 
a tiny scrap of India Ink on the margins left on the 
engravings of a volume of Buffon, an account of the 
life of her mother, the Duchesse d'Ayen. She wrote 
this work of love in the hope that It might one day 
be treasured by her grandchildren. With the imagi- 
native and deeply devout mind which was hers, she 
often communed in spirit with the dear dead, deeply 
impressed with the thought that perhaps it was owing 
to their prayers and intercession that she now had the 
happiness of being with her husband, resting at an oasis 
of peace after all the deserts of war and revolution she 
had so bravely traversed. 

But the close confinement in those unhealthy cells, 
with no ventilation, and the ever-present poisonous 
fumes from the moat under her window, combined with 
the fact that she had no exercise, reduced her to a state 
of health which gave great alarm to her family. So 
concerned did they become that after repeated urging 
she consented to obey the wishes of her husband in 
writing to the emperor, asking permission to travel to 

281 



£l^aiidme tie Eafapette 

Vienna for the necessary consultations with the doctors. 
In reality, her chief object in consenting to go was the 
cherished hope that she might be of use to her fellow 
prisoners. 

Olmutz, February 6, 1796. 

" Sire : Had I sooner been given leave to write, I 
should long since have offered my grateful thanks to 
Your Imperial Majesty for having permitted us to share 
the captivity of one so dear. To these thanks, Sire, I 
shall add no details of M. de Lafayette's condition, 
however different it may be from what I imagined on 
leaving Your Majesty's presence; to my great regret I 
shall only speak of myself. My health, impaired by 
sufferings and misfortunes, my duty towards those who 
are still left to me in this world constrains me to solicit 
permission to go for some days to Vienna, leaving my 
daughters with their father, in order to consult doctors 
on my state. I should not have importuned Your Maj- 
esty with this request had I not been told that it could 
be only granted by yourself. 

" I entreat," etc. ... 

After nearly eight weeks of weary waiting, grow- 
ing daily more sick, she received her first visit from 
the Commander of Olmutz, who informed her verbally 
that the ansv/er to her request was that she might go 
to Vienna as she had desired, but in that case would 
be obliged to give up all hope of returning to Olmutz. 
He requested a written answer. She wrote at once : 

April 4, 1796. 

" The Commander of Olmutz having declared to 
me that on my request to go for a week to Vienna in 
order to consult the doctors, his Imperial Majesty does 
not permit me, under any pretense whatever, to go to 
Vienna, and only allows me to leave this prison on 
condition never to enter it again, I have the honour 

282 



here to renew my answer. It was my duty towards my 
family and friends to try and obtain the advice neces- 
sary tor my health, but they well know that I cannot 
accept the conditions offered to me. I cannot forget 
that while we were both on the eve of perishing, I 
through the tyranny of Robespierre, M. de Lafayette 
through the physical and moral sufferings of his cap- 
tivity, I was neither allowed to receive any accounts 
of him or to let him know that his children and I were 
still alive. I shall not expose myself to the horrors of 
another separation. Therefore, whatever may be the 
state of my health or the hardships of this abode for 
my daughters, we shall all three take advantage of His 
Imperial Majesty's goodness in allowing us to share 
this captivity in all its details. 

" Noailles-Lafayette." 

The illness of Mme. de Lafayette made dreadful 
and rapid progress on account of the inhuman conduct 
of the authorities, of whose methods much might be 
written. It is incredible how any man could be so 
indifferent to the piteous sufferings of a woman. She 
was only allowed to see the doctor for a couple of min- 
utes each day, and that in the presence of an officer. 
The doctor spoke no French, and was obliged to ex- 
press his fears and opinions in Latin, which tongue La- 
fayette understood fairly well. The poor lady was in 
a fearful condition. She had a violent eruption on her 
arms, which swelled in such a manner and to such a 
size that it was impossible to lift, or even move, them 
at all. Later she had a repetition of the eruption on 
her legs, and was never without fever; in this deplor- 
able state she dragged through eleven months of that 
life which had been so full of sorrow. During this time, 
from October, 1796, to September, 1797, she could 
obtain no better or more humane treatment from her 
gaolers — even being denied an armchair! 

Virginie, writing of this moment, says: " Seeing her 
283 



a^ame tie Eafapette anU ^tt f amilp 

always serene, always enjoying my father's company 
and the consolations she had brought with her, we were 
all less anxious than we ought to have been. This ex- 
plains how, save in the beginning of the illness, she 
found pleasure in our quiet life." 

Driven by that hard mistress Necessity, all the 
ingenuity of those devoted daughters was called into 
play. Anastasie, who proved to be quite a genius, even 
made shoes for her father ! She also wrote, under his 
dictation, on the margins of a book with that precious 
bit of India ink and a toothpick, both of which were 
too valuable " to be entrusted to Virginie," whom her 
mother occupied herself in educating. In the evenings 
they worked, or busied themselves quietly, while their 
father read aloud, the memory of these hours being 
spoken of years after with evident and sincere pleasure. 
But what a life ! They were veritably buried alive, but, 
to believe in the old proverb, " There's a silver lining 
to every cloud," and their lining was very shortly to 
appear through the darkness of the overhanging fir- 
mament. 



284 



CHAPTER XX 

ISOLATED as they were from the pulsating, ac- 
tive world, there were many who did not forget 
the Lafayettes, and tried by various means to es- 
tablish communication with the interior of the 
prison. A few months after Mme. de Lafayette had 
joined her husband, some friendly and patriotic Ger- 
mans succeeded, after many dangers and unsuccessful 
attempts, in arranging a means by which messages could 
be sent, the rector of the university, toward whom, 
ever after, they " all professed the greatest gratitude," 
being the first to send them news. He very cleverly in- 
vented a method which allowed Mme. de Lafayette to 
correspond with her friends without having the con- 
tents of her letters inspected by the gaolers, after which 
a friend took them across the Austrian frontier, and 
the rest was easy. The exact details of this correspond- 
ence are not known, but bribery played a large part in 
the " system." Is it not extraordinary how prisoners 
in all ages have outwitted their gaolers? How they 
have managed to communicate among themselves and 
with the outside world. This indisputable fact shows 
plainly that the deductions of the estimable Mr. Wal- 
pole are irrefutable : " Every man has his price." 

Before the family of Lafayette had joined him, his 
secretary had very ingeniously arranged a means of 
communication with his captive friends by means of 
sounds played on that little reed instrument known as 
a " Pan's pipe," the cipher being understood by M. 
de Maubourg's servant. They played those airs known 
in Paris as " Airs of the Pont Neuf," from the fact 

285 



^^atiame tie ILafapette 

of their being popular and familiar to all, so that a 
few notes gave an idea of what they wished to convey, 
and the quick wits of the prisoners jumped at the neces- 
sary conclusion. This method was tedious and incom- 
plete, though it sufficed for a while, being better than 
nothing. An easier way was planned later, its medium 
being a kindly soldier, whose hearty peasant appetite 
laid him prey to the wiles of temptation. Having been 
regaled with an ample supper, he would allow, nay, 
even assist, the prisoners to lower a parcel containing 
food from their window; in turn lowering it to the 
sentry guarding MM. Maubourg and de Pusy, this 
latter passing it in to the prisoners. Consequently, 
many bits of information were circulated in the prison 
in a manner of which the authorities remained in bliss- 
ful ignorance. The accomplished Anastasie managed 
to make a little though very accurate sketch of a 
gaoler whose appearance was a source of much amuse- 
ment to the young girls. As he was not of a sufficiently 
obliging temperament to act as a model, she secretly 
drew him on her thumb-nail, later transferring the effort 
to paper. This sketch was preserved at Lagrange. 
The corporal is " represented in the act of opening the 
door of the prison which looks upon the corridor, and 
which is secured above and below with crossed bars pro- 
vided with padlocks. His bald head is uncovered; his 
few remaining hairs are collected into a little queue, 
which is ludicrously turned aside over his shoulder ; and 
he advances with the stealthy pace of a timid individ- 
ual who lends an attentive ear to some fancied noise. 
In one hand he holds a bunch of large keys, one of 
which he directs mechanically towards the lock; in the 
other hand he holds one of those beaked lamps which 
are much used in Germany, and its dim light is reflected 
on his visage. A stick, which serves for self-defence 
or the chastisement of offenders, is attached to his wrist 
by a leather strap; his little three-cornered hat is 
squeezed flat under his arm ; his sabre is fastened to his 

286 



side by a girdle; his waistcoat, breeches, wide boots, 
and, in fact, the whole of his attire, show that he is in 
undress, and his knees seem to bend, not so much under 
the weight of years, as under the influence of cow- 
ardice." 

The tide of time and events had now carried France 
on to that pinnacle of glory whose summit she was to 
occupy for the next decade. Italy had been conquered, 
and its unwilling rulers forced to pay 45,000,000 francs 
to the victors. 

" Soldiers," Napoleon addressed his men, " you are 
poorly fed and almost naked. The government owes 
you much, but it can do nothing. I am about to lead 
you into the most fertile plain in the world. Here 
great cities and prosperous provinces await you. There 
you will find honours, glory, riches. Soldiers of the 
Army of Italy, will you lack courage for the enter- 
prise? " 

The soldiers " did not " lack courage, and the 
" most fertile plain " enabled him to feed, to clothe his 
penniless army; to send 10,000,000 francs home to the 
Directory, another million to aid the French army in 
Germany. He had won eighteen battles, demolished 
three Austrian armies, and gained the Austrian Nether- 
lands ; the latter being ceded to France by the peace of 
Campo-Formio, July, 1797. France was in a position 
to dictate to continental Europe. 

News of these great events was slow in penetrating 
the thick walls of Olmiitz, and the prisoners were sur- 
prised to receive a visit from the Austrian general, the 
Marquis de Chastelar, who came at his master's bid- 
ding to offer them their liberty, on condition that they 
would leave and never return to the Austrian domin- 
ions. Having secretly received, through their hidden 
means of communication, shortly before Chastelar's 
arrival, the information that the French Government 
had insisted on their liberation, though with the pro- 

287 



Sr^atiame tie Eafapette 

viso that the three prisoners were not to return to 
France, they consulted by the same means in the prison, 
and returned the following answer to the proposition, 
Lafayette refusing to allow his rights as a Frenchman 
and as an American citizen to be tampered with: 

" The communication with the commission of which 
Lieut.-Gen. the Marquis de Chastelar has been charged, 
seems to me to resolve itself into the consideration of 
three points: ist. His Imperial Majesty requires an 
authenticated statement of our condition. I am not 
disposed at present to complain of any grievances. 
Several representations, however, may be found in the 
letters of my wife, transmitted or sent by the Austrian 
government; and if his Majesty is not satisfied by the 
perusal of the instructions sent, in his name, from 
Vienna, I will cheerfully communicate to M. de Chas- 
telar all the information he can possibly desire. 

" 2nd. His Majesty the Emperor and King, is de- 
sirous of obtaining an assurance that upon my libera- 
tion I shall immediately leave Europe for America. 
This has often been my desire and my intention, but 
as my consent at this moment to his Majesty's re- 
quest would constitute an acknowledgment of his right 
to impose such a condition, I do not feel disposed to 
comply with this demand. 

" 3rd. His Majesty the Emperor and King, has 
graciously done me the honour to signify that inasmuch 
as the principles I profess are incompatible with the 
safety of the Austrian government, he cannot consent 
to allow me to enter his territory again without his spe- 
cial permission. To this I have only to reply that there 
already exist antecedent obligations of which I cannot 
possibly divest myself, partly towards America, but 
mostly towards France, and I cannot engage to do any- 
thing which might interfere with the rights of my coun- 
try to my personal services. With these exceptions I 
can assure the Marquis de Chastelar that my invariable 
resolution is not to set foot upon any territory under 



9lnti J^er f amilp 

the dominion of his Majesty the King of Bohemia and 
Hungary." 

Though this reply once more closed the prison 
doors upon them, Lafayette was applauded and upheld 
in the position he had taken by the approval and ad- 
miration of his wife, whose well-known views of right 
and integrity of conscience permitted only the most 
honourable and lofty actions, always judging others 
from her exalted point of view. She would not have 
countenanced weakness in her husband, much as she 
loved him, greatly as she longed to be at liberty once 
more. But France had conquered Europe, and was in 
a position to dictate. Two months later Napoleon de- 
manded that the prisoners of Olmiitz should be set 
at liberty. He sent Louis Romeuf, who had at one 
time been aide-de-camp to Lafayette, from the Army 
of Italy with commands of the most peremptory nature 
to Vienna to force the execution of his orders. After 
much difficulty, discussion, and delay on the part of the 
Austrian Government, when the French envoy curtly 
refused to wait an instant longer the necessary papers 
were forwarded to Olmiitz, the sullen massive gates 
creaked forbiddingly on their hinges, the sharp clash 
of steel-shod hoofs rang on the pavement, a roll of 
wheels sounded hollow over the drawbridge, and the 
prisoners were once more free ! Free to enjoy the blue 
sky and the sunshine, to inhale the pure air, which 
proved so strong for lungs long accustomed to foul im- 
purities that they were almost overcome. Five years 
and a month had elapsed since Lafayette's arrest. On 
September 19, 1797, they started for Hamburg, hav- 
ing been in prison with him for twenty-three months; 
being accompanied by a major of the Austrian army, 
who travelled in a separate carriage. Great precau- 
tions were necessary to enable them to reach the fron- 
tier, and it was with deep and heartfelt breaths of re- 
lief that they passed from the country where they had 
endured such needless misery. 

289 



Ei^aiiame tie Uafapette 

Once free of the Austrian dominions, their progress 
was a continued triumph. At Dresden, Leipsic, Halle, 
and Hamburg crowds assembled to see the famous 
French patriot. These demonstrations were too much 
for the strength of Mme. de Lafayette, whose terrible 
state of health kept her from feeling or as yet deriv- 
ing any benefit from the change. But she bravely bore 
her sufferings, hiding her pain from the loving eyes 
watching her so closely, and managing to take some 
part in the general rejoicings and great friendliness 
shown them on every hand. On their arrival at Ham- 
burg, where they stopped two days to rest, Lafayette's 
first action was to write the following letter to General 
Bonaparte : 

Hamburg, October 6, 1797. 

" Citoyen General: The prisoners of Olmiitz, 
happy to owe their deliverance to your irresistible 
arms, had during their captivity rejoiced at the thought 
that their liberty and their life were attached to the 
victories of the Republic and to your personal glory. 
It is with the utmost satisfaction that they now do 
homage to their liberator. We should have liked, 
Citoyen General^ to have offered you in person the ex- 
pression of these feelings, to have witnessed with our 
own eyes the scenes of so many victories, the army 
which has won them, and the general who has placed 
our resurrection among the miracles he has accom- 
plished. But you know that the journey to Hamburg 
has not been left to our choice. It is from the place 
where we took leave of our gaolers that we address our 
thanks to their victor. 

" In the solitary retreat on the Danish territory of 
Holstein, where we shall try to recover our health, we 
shall unite our patriotic wishes for the Republic with 
the most lively interest in the illustrious general to 
whom we are still more attached on account of the serv- 
ices he has rendered to the cause of Liberty and to our 

290 



^nli ^tt f amilp 

country, than for the particular obligation we glorify 
in owing him, and which the deepest gratitude has ever 
engraved on our hearts. 

'^ Salut et respect, 

" Lafayette, 

" La Tour Maubourg, 

" Bureaux de Pusy." 

Among the many French at Hamburg, they found 
the aide-de-camp of Lafayette with letters and news 
from home. The American consul hastened to greet 
them, the celebrated Klopstock who had long ago In- 
veighed against the treatment of Lafayette, the " gen- 
erous d'Archenoltz." The Americans held a reception, 
presenting an address full of welcome and touching 
sympathy; so this family, which had undergone so 
much, was at last surrounded by love and sympathy, 
while kindness poured its balm into these lacerated 
hearts. They received quantities of letters from all 
sorts of persons; in particular, one from the celebrated 
Mme. de Stael: 

June lo, 1797. 

" I hope this letter will reach you. I should like 
to be one of the first to tell you of the feelings of in- 
dignation, grief, hope, fear, anxiety, discouragement, 
with which your fate has filled during the last five years 
the hearts of all those who love you. I do not know 
whether it is possible to make those cruel recollec- 
tions bearable to you; nevertheless, I may say that 
while calumny was destroying every reputation, while 
faction, unable to triumph over the cause, was attack- 
ing every individual, your misfortunes preserved your 
glory, and if your health can be restored to you, you 
come out whole from a tomb where your name has ac- 
quired fresh lustre. Come directly to France; there is 
no other country for you. You will find that republic 
which your opinions led you to wish for when your 

291 



•ai^aiiame tic ftafapcttc 

conscience bound you to royalty. You will find it illus- 
trious with victory and free from the crimes which 
stained its origin, you will uphold that Republic, be- 
cause without it no liberty can exist in France, and 
because as a hero and as a martyr you are so united 
with freedom that I indifferently pronounce your name 
to express what I wish for the honour and welfare of 
France. 

" Come to France; there you will find devoted 
friends, and let me hope that my constant care for your 
welfare, and my useless efforts to serve you, may entitle 
me to a small place in your thoughts." 

On December i, 1797, they arrived at the end of 
their journey, which was the home bought by Mme. de 
Tesse, a lovely peninsula on Lake Ploen. Later, M. 
de Lafayette took a chateau at Lhemkuln, in Holstein, 
near the estate of Mme. de Tesse, where they were to pass 
the winter. On their arrival at the home of this much- 
loved aunt, they were almost overwhelmed with kind- 
ness, so glad were the assembled friends and relatives 
to welcome the long-lost prisoners. Mme. de Montagu 
came to them, and, much to the pleasure of Lafayette, 
the Comte de Mun and M. de Lameth, a former aide- 
de-camp of the general. They were soon joined by many 
of the extensive family of La Tour Maubourg, among 
whom was Charles, soon to become the son-in-law of 
Lafayette. Coming to see his sister, Mme. de Maison- 
neuve, he soon fell victim to the charms of the gentle 
Anastasie, who at first sight loved the handsome youth. 
The " nobility and loftiness of the sentiments he ex- 
pressed " charmed the heart of the daughter of Mme. 
de Lafayette, where perhaps a less serious wooer would 
have met with no response. But this girl had been 
cradled in alarms, had known more tears than joy in 
her childhood, she was old for her years, and the late 
captivity had sobered those spirits which other girls 
of her age and rank would have had. She was just 

292 



beginning to shake off the distress and gloominess of 
the last five years; for, though a child when these ter- 
rible evils began to occur, the very atmosphere was 
heavy with apprehension and gloom had mingled with 
her play hours. Her lover was quiet, said little, but 
this did not hinder the young people from exchanging 
sentiments pleasing to both, and the parents delightedly 
consented to a union for love alone. 

Unlike the usual ceremonious arrangements of the 
times, the betrothal breathed a spirit of patriarchal 
simplicity, as, owing to the state of affairs in France 
and the impossibility of the Lafayettes knowing any- 
thing about their finances, or, indeed, if they had any 
property, there was no delay about settlements; no one 
knew if there was anything left to settle ! Charles did 
not fear poverty ; he knew it, as did most Frenchmen of 
noble family at that time. Hard experience had devel- 
oped the practical side in many a man's nature. Every 
one was overjoyed at the marriage which would more 
closely knit the friendship of two families united by 
years and misfortune. Mme. de Tesse threw up her 
hands in horror at the Adam-and-Eve-like simplicity of 
the proceedings — and promptly provided the trousseau ! 
She was one of the very few emigres who had the fore- 
thought to leave France with something for a rainy 
day. As for the larger part of that band of wandering 
nobles, they " took flight like the swallows." The only 
thing remaining to Mme. de Montagu, of all her an- 
cient luxury, " was a pair of gold-handled scissors," 
which from their utility and convenience she had not 
thought to part with, though the money would have 
been most useful to the hard-pressed woman. But pru- 
dent Mme. de Tesse had, on arriving in Holstein, at 
once invested part of what she had saved in a farm, 
cows, and other food-producing animals, and so derived 
a comfortable income, and was able to help those innu- 
merable ones less fortunate than herself. 

On May 5, 1798, the simple wedding was solemnised 

293 



0^atiame tie ^afa^iette 

in the chapel at Mme. de Tesse's home, Witmold, this 
being before the Lafayettes had decided to take a place 
of their own. Poor Mme. de Lafayette was in such a 
condition that she was obliged to be carried in a chair 
by her future son-in-law and George Lafayette, who 
had just returned from America in time to be present 
at his sister's wedding. Her health at this time was 
the cause of terrible anxiety to them all. Her disorder, 
neglected in prison from the heartlessness of the au- 
thorities, to whom she appealed for proper aid and 
medical attendance, had become very severe. As 
ever, the joy of seeing others happy made her forget 
self. 

" When I think," she wrote, " of the fearful situa- 
tion that my children were in a short time ago, when 
I see them all about me, to find myself on the point of 
adopting a fourth child according to my heart, I feel 
unable to thank God sufficiently." 

The time passed at the quaint, grim old castle of 
Lhemkuln was very pleasant and restful to the lately 
freed prisoners. The cheerful society of Mme. de 
Tesse, " who had always been a favourite of M. de 
Lafayette, and her piquant amusing conversation passed 
many an hour," and put them au courant of the hap- 
penings of the last years, while they had been at 
Olmiitz. 

Though she was improving very slowly, business 
made it imperative that Mme. de Lafayette should re- 
turn to France, as she was the only one of the family 
who could enter that turbulent country, her name not 
being on the list of those proscribed or upon any list 
of suspects. She must go at once to see what had be- 
come of the property belonging to her husband, and the 
not inconsiderable share of her mother's, which she had 
inherited through the death of the Duchesse d'Ayen. 
Taking with her Anastasie and her husband, Charles 
de Maubourg, and Virginie, she journeyed to Holland, 
where, after a short rest, leaving Anastasie with her 

294 



^nti ^tt f amilp 

husband's people, she resumed her way to Paris with 
Virginie. 

It would be most interesting, were there more de- 
tails of this visit to France, but the country was in a 
condition of terrible confusion after the excesses of the 
past years, and she was unable to accomplish much. 
She visited Paris, arranged what matters she could, then 
flew to the welcoming arms of old Mme. de Chavinac. 
After a brief visit, the mother and daughter departed, 
taking their way home. The following year the vari- 
ous members of the family were united at Vianen, near 
Utrecht. Here was it Mme. de Lafayette's eager arms 
held tenderly the child of Anastasie — Celestine de 
Maubourg, her grandchild. To add, if possible, to 
the joy of this torn and tortured heart, her sisters, 
Mme. de Grammont and Mme. de Montagu, came 
from France, to her home near Witmold. The three 
sisters had not been together for eight years, and the 
two latter had not met for more than that length of 
time. Mme. de Lafayette was forty, Mme. de Gram- 
mont thirty-one, and Mme. de Montagu thirty. Mme. 
de Lafayette's " misfortunes had greatly aged her, but 
beneath the signs of suffering there was an air of sur- 
prising calm, resolution, and resignation, which had in 
it something imposing," wrote Mme. de Montagu after 
this meeting. The illusions of their youth had been 
shattered. Their lives saddened by the terrible situa- 
tion of their country, of their relations; but, together 
once more, the years seemed brushed aside and they 
were again the happy daughters of a stately, gentle 
mother, playing at life beneath the sunny shadows of 
the spreading trees in the peaceful garden. Their edu- 
cation had been peculiar, their mother different from 
most women of her circle; but in the wonderfully 
strong love of their families and of each other they all 
resembled the martyred Duchesse d'Ayen. Though 
time and sorrow had rounded the angles, softened 
prejudice and opinion, it had not served to change the 

295 



£t^atiame tie Eafapette 

strong and distinctive characteristics of each. In one of 
Mme. de Montagu's letters, found later, she wrote of 
her sister: 

" Adrienne is admirable for her faith, her zeal, her 
uprightness. Every moment I find in her an example 
to copy. I am struck more than ever by her enlight- 
ened and cultivated mind. She has such a sweet way 
of listening. I may say that God has given her all that 
was necessary for the great career which awaited her." 

M. de Lafayette and George were of this family 
party, but they were not content. Each place they 
visited, though satisfactory at first, quickly became 
wearying. They were eager and impatient of delay 
until again on the wing. It was the heart-cry of the 
exile to visit his native country once more, and it 
could not be stilled or silenced. The three sisters 
were together for a month. Then again did that 
devoted woman determinedly put aside the thought 
of all she had suffered through the winter, and once 
more travel to Paris with her youngest daughter. La- 
fayette was in Holland, where he had been warmly 
welcomed and well treated by the Dutch, finding a very 
excellent friend In General Van Ryssel, whose daughter 
had married Victor de Maubourg, the brother of 
Charles, his son-in-law. 

Again in France, Mme. de Lafayette found great 
confusion prevailing; everything was on the verge of an 
upheaval. Nothing could be predicted a week ahead. 
There was much fear that the Terrorist party would 
be once more the controlling power. The universally 
execrated Jacobins were regaining their strength ; events 
hung breathlessly on the brink of a chasm — ^waiting. 

The troops of the Coalition had gained many vic- 
tories. There was an English army at the Helder. 
Everything was said at Paris. Again fate seemed to 
be weaving a heavy veil between Adrienne de Lafay- 
ette and her husband. She could not, dared not, form 
the thought that they might once more be separated. 

296 



^nli ^tt f amilp 

The Batavian Government was friendly, and despite 
the commands and injunctions of General Brune, La- 
fayette was welcome there. His wife reasoned that 
if he could not depend on the protection of the armies 
of France, what would be the result if Holland was 
in the power of the Coalition — of the counter-revolu- 
tion? This, and much else, was the talk at Paris. 

At last, taking matters in her own hands, she went 
to see the Director Sieyes, who was the leader of the 
party opposed to the Jacobins. She stated the facts of 
the matter to him, adding that in the danger to which 
her husband would be exposed in the event of the for- 
eign armies being victorious, he would return to 
France. Very probably, not wishing the presence of 
Lafayette in France at that crisis, Sieyes told her warn- 
ingly that such a proceeding would not be advisable, 
that he would find a safer refuge in the states of the 
King of Prussia. 

" Who kept him prisoner," she returned. " M. de 
Lafayette would prefer, if necessary, a prison in 
France; but he has more confidence in his fellow coun- 
trymen." 

In the midst of these agitations and nerve-racking 
worries, that sharp, decisive, revolution of the i8th 
Brumaire happened. At once the aspect of the politi- 
cal horizon was totally changed. With that great affin- 
ity of spirits ever existing between them, she felt that 
his place was in France, that her husband would wish 
her to send for him. She did so. He had complete 
confidence in her judgment, she knew he would come 
unquestioningly. She wished him to return without 
asking permission, so that it should not be thought that 
he waited until arrangements to his advantage could be 
made. The new government had issued proclamations 
in a spirit of liberality and freedom of ideas, indicating 
broad political toleration. Lafayette should come and 
share with his fellow exiles ; he asked no favour. In an 
assumed name she sent to him, by M. Alexis Marbeouf, 

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£l^atiame tie Slafapette 

a former aide-de-camp, the required passport; and with 
it he started and soon arrived in Paris. 

What were his sensations, his emotions, as he again 
traversed the streets where once his very appearance 
had been the signal for acclaim — where now no head 
turned to look at him? Few recognised, none cared. 
There is no man so little appreciated as the incorrupt- 
ible patriot. The tyrant comes to us through countless 
ages, " linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes," 
and history blazes forth his name ; the patriot's reward, 
a quiet stone in an obscure churchyard — sic transit 
gloria, etc. 

Napoleon, then premier consul, received the news 
of Lafayette's return with little pleasure, in fact, with 
annoyance, remarking " that if he exposed himself to 
the danger of being taken by the English, the Coali- 
tion will never give him up." He was, while in Egypt, 
very favourably inclined toward Lafayette, at that time 
in Holland, but the consul wished to be consulted about 
everything, and probably the fact that Lafayette re- 
turned without asking his permission may have, in some 
way, offended his dignity. Mme. de Lafayette, then 
in Paris, called on him, and was graciously received. 
He told her that her husband's sudden appearance had 
" Entraverait sa marche; I know best, Madame, what 
is to be done in his interests; I beg of him to avoid all 
eclat. Je n'en rapporte a son patriotismey Napoleon 
was impressed with the good sense and tact which she 
exhibited on this occasion. 

" I am charmed, Madame, to make your acquaint- 
ance; vous avez beaucoup d' esprit, mats vous n'entendez 
pas les a f aires. ^^ 

They finally arranged that M. de Lafayette should 
remain in France, without concealing, but without at- 
tracting attention to, his movements. He was to ask 
for no permission, but would withdraw with his family 
to the country, and there await the legal time of his 
proscription. Mme. de Montagu and her husband had 

298 



prior to this time arrived from Holland, and George 
was with his father, so the family retired to Fontenay, 
finally going to Lagrange, Bleneau, in the departement 
of the Seine-et-Marne, thirteen leagues from Paris, 
near Rosnay in Brie, and about half-way from Melun to 
Meaux. The farm, consisting of about eight hundred 
acres, was well wooded, fertile, and well cultivated. 
This historical estate had been the property of the late 
Duchesse d'Ayen, from whom Mme. de Lafayette in- 
herited it. A beautiful place, rejoicing in gardens and 
vineyards, surrounded by villages patriarchal enough 
to please the most profound antiquarian, it had with- 
stood the cannons of the Fronde, though the great hall 
bears a scar from a ball sent under the orders of the 
great Turenne, the torch and despoliation of the Revo- 
lution, and now once again sheltered the descendants 
of its illustrious owners. In the little village at its 
gates, facing the square or market-place, nestled a tiny 
nunnery, founded by Mme. de Lafayette's grand- 
mother, the Marechale de Noailles, which was rather 
unlike most convents, as the nuns were allowed the lib- 
erty of going and coming as they pleased. This little 
community survived the Terror, and was greatly re- 
joiced to see again its patroness and friend, for whose 
welfare and preservation so many prayers had been 
offered. 

Some years later, while visiting France, Professor 
Carter wrote the following detailed description of La- 
grange, in which he says that " Lagrange was formerly 
a fortified baronial castle, and notwithstanding the 
modifications it has undergone, much of its antique 
and feudal character still remains. It was once sur- 
rounded by a deep moat, most sections of which, filled 
with water, have been preserved, and the residue filled 
up, either for the sake of health or convenience. The 
edifice consists of a centre, perhaps a hundred feet in 
length, with two wings of about the same dimensions, 
and joining it at right angles. From traces still vis- 

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£l^atiame tie Hafapette 

ible, a gallery evidently extended across at the extrem- 
ity of the wings, enclosing a quadrangular courtyard, 
strongly defended, with only one entrance under a lofty 
arch in the northern wall, guarded by a portcullis. 

" The chateau is three stories high, plainly con- 
structed of a hard and dark-coloured stone, rendered of 
a deeper hue by its venerable age and long exposure to 
the climate. Two Gothic towers of a conical shape 
rise from the ends of each of the wings, and form 
almost the only ornament. The approach is by a wind- 
ing avenue on the northern side, leading through a thick 
grove of evergreens and other trees, and under the arch 
already mentioned, around which hang festoons of ivy, 
planted by the celebrated Charles James Fox, in one of 
his visits to Lagrange. The beautiful plant is as green 
as his memory, and mantles nearly the whole fagade of 
the chateau. Its luxuriant foliage shading the gray 
walls, the thick copse bordering the moat, and the four 
antique turrets, half concealed by the intervening 
bushes, present a view on this side seldom equalled in 
its air of rural quiet and unostentatious retirement." 

Like the tossed ship, now over the breakers and 
resting in smooth waters, the persecuted family could 
hardly realise that this quiet uneventful life was not a 
dream. For the first time in many years they were all 
together. There was no imperative necessity of their 
being separated. To the logical mind of Lafayette, 
there was no reason why his companions in captivity 
should not return to France, since he, their chief, was 
there and at liberty. The government was not un- 
friendly, but did not care to inaugurate a special move- 
ment toward the officers who had followed Lafayette 
on August 19, 1792. As usual, Mme. de Lafayette 
was the ambassador to whom these delicate negotiations 
were entrusted. Cautiously she journeyed between 
Paris and Lagrange, always hoping that the " next 
time she would be able to make the final and satisfac- 
tory arrangements. . . . She succeeded, and to her sole 

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^nti ^tt f amilp 

and personal labours, exertions, diplomacy, what you 
will, each one of that devoted band owed his ' radia- 
tion.' " 

She longed for a life of peace and quiet, as did her 
husband. Had the Consulate continued, this might 
not have been achieved, but the glorious, gorgeous, im- 
perial despotism made the patriot, for honour's sake, 
] ly down his sword for the ploughshare. From con- 
versations repeated by Lafayette some years later, we 
learn of the rather curious condition of affairs which 
existed between Napoleon and himself. It could not 
be that the great Napoleon was jealous of the man, but 
probably the influence of the patriot was what he 
thought might prove an opposing factor in his schemes 
of unbounded ambition. He was unquestionably an- 
noyed at Lafayette's unexpected return to France, 

When the funeral oration on the death of General 
Washington was pronounced at the Invalides, the men- 
tion of Lafayette's name was peremptorily forbidden, 
an extraordinary command, when the two men were so 
linked before the whole world by destiny. The First 
Consul was exceedingly angry when George Lafayette, 
the great Washington's namesake, was invited to be 
present at the solemn ceremony. Did he think that the 
name of Lafayette, associated in every mind with the 
word liberty, would recall to that fickle people over 
whom he hoped to rule the purpose, the chimera, in 
search of which they had committed such excesses? 
Did he think the resurrected cause of Liberty would bar 
his advancement, and contest his way to the imperial 
throne? Lafayette had been the idol of the people in 
the first flush of the struggle; he was hated by many, 
and feared by those whose duplicity he mercilessly ex- 
posed, but that uncertain nation might once more hail 
him as the saviour of Liberty and the Rights of Man 
— and then? What the wonderful brain of Napoleon 
foresaw will never be known, but it would be enthrall- 
ing reading. During his term as First Consul he fre- 

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sr^atiame tie Hafapette 

quently sent for and had many agreeable and friendly 
conversations with the marquis. At his order, Talley- 
rand was permitted to offer him the post of ambas- 
sador to the United States. It was not merely an offer, 
but to press his acceptance of this distinction, the ten- 
der was strongly backed by the ministers. To quote 
Lafayette : 

" I answered that I was too much of an American 
to present myself in the part of a foreign diplomat. 
Talleyrand afterwards pressed on my acceptance a seat 
in the Senate. I declined it laughingly, saying that 
probably the very day after my admission I might find 
myself under the necessity of denouncing the Admin- 
istration of the chief. The mot was carried to the First 
Consul, who said to General Dumas (father of the 
novelist) : 

'' ' Je n'aime pas a passer pour un tyran; le general 
Lafayette semble me designer comme tel.^ I replied 
that if Bonaparte would serve the cause of Liberty, I 
would serve him with devouement, but that I would 
not serve or associate myself with an arbitrary govern- 
ment." 

Later, all Intercourse between them ceased, Lafay- 
ette having voted against the Consulate for life, as It 
was not consistent with his Ideas, being too arbitrary 
and savouring strongly of absolutism. His vote was 
worded: "I cannot vote for such a Magistracy until 
public liberty has been sufficiently guaranteed; then will 
I give my vote to Napoleon Bonaparte." 

The attitude assumed by the general probably had 
much to do with the animosity Napoleon always dis- 
played toward George Lafayette. Though he at first 
evinced a partiality for the young man, who bid fair 
to be a very promising officer, he finally displayed an 
unworthy and most petty dislike toward him, per- 
emptorily refusing advancement or promotion, though 
numerous opportunities occurred when honour dictated 
this as the only course to follow. The requests, solicl- 

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9lnti f$tt f amilp 

tations, and expostulations of his most distinguished 
generals had no effect on the Man of Destiny. Na- 
poleon's behaviour was unjust, unbecoming, and utterly 
despicable in one of his wonderful ability and high posi- 
tion. Convinced of the fact that in the army there was 
no career for him, George reluctantly tendered his resig- 
nation soon after the Peace of Tilsit. It was accepted, 
and he retired to Lagrange shortly before the Spanish 
war was declared. Despite a certain regret which 
Mme. de Lafayette felt at the treatment of her only 
son, the daily pleasure which the sight of him afforded 
her amply compensated for such added glories as his 
career might have afforded. Like her dead mother, 
worldly glory meant nothing to her when weighed 
against the safety of the child who was so dear to her 
maternal heart. 



303 



CHAPTER XXI 

AT last peace seemed to have come to the daunt- 
less woman who had given so much, endured 
such sacrifices and privations, such miseries, 
for those dear to her. Her health impera- 
tively demanded quiet and rest after the awful events 
through which she had passed so bravely. Even had 
the quiet not been necessary, it was what she preferred 
above everything. To one so totally engrossed in her 
family, finding more than sufficient the daily unexciting 
routine, the life she now led was paradise. As her 
daughter says of her: 

" She felt too deeply, too passionately, I may say, 
the emotions of family life to wish for any other. 
Neither the grandeur of her former position, nor even 
the lustre of her misfortunes, had given birth in her 
mind to that restless pride which cannot bear to return 
to a homely life. Though her devoted courage had 
risen above the greatest trials, still the feelings and 
easy duties of an obscure destiny would have sufficed 
to satisfy her heart. Love filled her whole being." 

The last few years of her life afforded her more 
pleasure and greater enjoyment than she had ever 
dared picture in her fondest imagination. Her world 
was around her. She suffered some anxiety on account 
of George, who was wounded at the battle of Mincio, 
but this soon passed away and was forgotten in the 
great joy which his marriage brought to her. He 
wedded in 1802, and the charming summer days were 
passed with his bride, Emilie, the daughter of the 
Comte de Tracy, at beautiful Lagrange. Always eager 

304 



Sr^atiame tie Hafapctte anti ^et f amilp 

to share their joys with those dear to them, this patri- 
archal family journeyed to Chavinac, where they were 
welcomed with inexpressible joy by Mme. de Chavinac, 
aged, but still in possession of all her faculties. Her 
many trials had not in the least broken her spirit or 
chilled the warmth of her heart, and she welcomed the 
new member of the family with much tenderness, and 
insisted on telling the stalwart bridegroom that he had 
grown I Which, though a serious affront to his dignity, 
was true, as his aunt had not seen him for some years. 
She took a great delight in relating to the young bride 
those childish pranks of which she had been so proud, 
with which George had been wont to enliven the stately 
quiet of the chateau in former times. 

What melancholy events had passed since they were 
last all together at Chavinac! How carelessly Mme. 
de Lafayette had parted from the mother and sister, 
whom she was never more to meet ! Each spot in the 
grounds, each tree, recalled an hour pleasantly spent; 
a half-ended conversation, jesting words from lips still 
and cold in an unmarked grave; but the great hap- 
piness of the present was compensation for the agonies 
of times now forever past. 

Deep and awful as is the grief of the moment, it 
cannot forever hold young hearts in its numbing grasp, 
and the ancient chateau with its memories and ghosts 
was the scene of a very pretty romance, which throve 
apace under the benign influence of friendly relatives, 
and filled the sunny hours of the waning autumn days 
with tender golden dreams. " A happy wife is ever a 
matchmaker," goes the old saw, and to her aunt, Mme. 
de Montagu, Virginie de Lafayette owed the gallant 
wooer whose suit was amply rewarded by the taper 
fingers of the youngest daughter of the family. Some 
time before, while at Brioude in Limousine on family 
matters, Mme. de Montagu had met and taken a great 
fancy to that gallant young colonel, Louis, Marquis de 
Lasteyrie du Sallant, and it was at her invitation that 

305 



St^atiame tie ilafapette 

he had come to Chavinac, where he immediately be- 
came a great favourite, being the happy possessor of 
one of those dispositions which makes friends with high 
and low, without in any way taking from the dignity 
or self-respect of the person in question. Mme. de 
Montagu had preceded the arrival of her protege with 
a long and sisterly epistle to her sister Mme. Lafayette, 
written, in fact, shortly after she had met Louis de Las- 
teyrie, with whose family she had long been acquainted, 
in which she had not failed to enumerate the worldly 
advantages attached to the match. Her glowing eulo- 
gies were soon re-echoed by her sister, and Adrienne 
had the pleasure of once again reliving, as she watched 
the lovers, those bright hours of her youth when the 
storms of after years were never dreamed of, and she 
and the young marquis had stood before the gorgeous 
throng, now but ghosts ! and sworn to be true, " For 
better, for worse." 

We do not know if she preferred him to Latour 
Maubourg, the husband of Anastasie, but, like all 
mothers, she thought nothing too good for those faith- 
ful daughters, and the very handsome personality of 
Lasteyrie appealed to the heart which, despite its love 
of vii'ture and goodness, did not disdain the personal 
appearance of one who was to be her son-in-law. In 
truth, she preferred a handsome husband for her 
daughter, to one equally meritorious, but less pre- 
possessing, as Virginie said at the time: 

" You may fancy how much he suited my mother's 
views, for she wished above all to find for each of her 
daughters a husband who united with religious prin- 
ciples and solid qualities every exterior advantage." 
Which naive confession proves that even the heart of 
a heroine is but as the rest of us are. 

The affair so happily begun, ended in a betrothal 
when M. de Lasteyrie followed them to Lagrange, to 
which ancestral demesne the family returned later. 
While preparations for the important event were 

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^nti f$2t f amilp 

under way, the father of the bride had the misfortune 
to fall on a slippery pavement, breaking his hip. It 
proved to be a severe and complicated fracture, and 
the doctors, with that love of experiment dear to the 
medical mind, tried a new and much recommended 
method of treatment on their unfortunate patient, 
which, however, inflicted such painful and exquisite 
torture on the hapless marquis, that it was at once and 
forever abandoned, greatly to the gain of future suf- 
ferers. 

Cloquet says: "The fractured limb was enclosed 
in a machine, which kept it in a constant state of ten- 
sion; and as Lafayette had promised those skillful sur- 
geons to support the pain with patience as long as they 
might judge it necessary for his cure, he uttered not a 
single complaint for the fifteen or twenty days during 
which the apparatus was applied. When it was re- 
moved, the surgeons were unable to conceal the annoy- 
ance they felt at the effect produced by the bandages. 
Deschamp turned pale ; Boyer was stupefied ; the upper 
bandages had, by their pressure, cut deeply into the 
muscles of the thigh, and laid bare the femoral artery; 
the action of the lower ones had been less violent, but 
they had produced a mortification of the skin at the back 
part of the foot, and laid bare the tendons of the toes ! 
In consequence of Lafayette's stoical fortitude the 
vigilance of his surgeons was completely at fault. He 
bore the scars to the day of his death." 

What agony, what unhappiness for those watching 
him ! Mme. de Lafayette wrote to Pere Carrichon, 
telling him of the accident: " We are all on the rack," 
she said; " beg God that we shall rest upon the cross." 

On April 20, 1803, in a room adjoining that of 
her father, whose accident kept him chained to a bed 
of suffering, Virginie was united to the man she loved. 
Slender and spirituelle, " Her blonde beauty made her 
look like a child of fifteen, though she was nearly 
twenty." Devout and sincere was the blessing be- 

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a^atiame tie Hafapette 

stowed on the kneeling couple by the pious Carrichon; 
earnest, from the depth of his heart, the prayer for 
their wedded happiness. What a tumult of mingled 
emotions stirred the breast of the priest, whose bless- 
ing had sent her great-grandmother, her grandmother, 
and her aunt to eternal rest with peace in their re- 
signed souls. Times had changed since the good old 
days, but young hearts beat happily, and gave little 
thought to the splendour " which had been Greece's." 
Mme. de Tesse gave the trousseau, and the other mem- 
bers of the family, " instead of giving jewellery, and 
the usual diamonds incident to the occasion, united, and 
presented the bride with a purse of two thousand 
francs" (one hundred louis). What a pathetic com- 
ment on the fallen fortunes of the family! Just 
twenty years ago, in 1783, one of the least items in the 
corbeille de manage of her aunt, had been a purse, 
containing four hundred louis (eight thousand francs), 
which sum she promptly distributed among " those 
who had served her." Beneficial as revolutions may 
be, to mankind en masse, they are certainly destructive 
to the individual fortunes of the few ! 

The entire wedding party, accompanied by the gen- 
eral in a wheeled chair, repaired to the country seat 
of Mme. de Tesse at Aulnay, and there amused them- 
selves in various ways, suited to their taste. Mme. de 
Tesse had " ceased to sell milk," as she had done 
while in exile, and, indeed, the bountiful hospitality 
which she constantly maintained would have made any 
such attempt futile. To the most remote degrees of 
kinship, the family was there, and, when a few years 
later, this august couple celebrated their golden wed- 
ding, it was a veritable tribe of biblical days which 
gathered around them. 

Anastasie, in the life of her mother, says that: 
" Shortly after the wedding, Mme. de Lafayette re- 
ceived a letter from a priest, the contents of which ex- 
cited and interested her greatly, though recalling 

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9lnti i$tt f amiip 

vividly the most sorrowful event in her stormy life. 
The priest wrote that after a long and ceaseless search, 
in which he had met with unnumbered obstacles, he 
had at last succeeded in finding the burial place of the 
thirteen hundred victims who had fallen by the guil- 
lotine in the last six weeks of the Reign of Terror near 
the Barriere du Trone. (Barriere du ' Trone ren- 
verse', as the wits named it after the days of fallen 
monarchy.) This was almost at the same moment as 
she had heard from Mme. de Montagu on the same 
subject. One of the first cares, " a pious duty of a 
devoted daughter," of Mme. de Montagu, after her 
return to France, was to try and learn where her 
mother, Mme. d'Ayen, had been buried. No one was 
able to tell her. All the emigres were in the same 
ignorance concerning the fate of those near and dear, 
who had met their death upon the scaffold. All 
Paris knew where the victims had fallen, but none 
where they had found their eternal rest; the journals 
of the times made no comment ; it was almost a state se- 
cret. On her return from Auvergne where she had 
been to attend to some family business, she heard of a 
poor girl, a lace maker by trade. Mile. Paris, living 
in the faubourg, who might be able to furnish a clue. 
On this slight thread, Mme. de Montagu commenced 
the laborious search, and after heartrending disap- 
pointments, weary mounting of endless tortuous stairs, 
knocking at numberless doors, she arrived at the fourth- 
floor garret of Mile. Paris, who, on seeing her, thought 
she was a new customer whom heaven had sent. The 
poor workwoman melted into tears when Mme. de 
Montagu had explained the object of her visit, and told 
her the following story: 

" My father," she said, " was an infirm old man 
who had served the family of Brissac for thirty years; 
my brother, a little younger than myself, an employe 
in the staff office of the National Guard. He was very 
steady and economical, and supported us all by his 

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*a[^atiame tie Slafapette 

work, after the misfortune of the house of Brlssac had 
deprived my father of his pension. As for myself, I 
had no occupation; none wore lace in the time of the 
Terror. One day my brother did not come home at 
the usual time. I went out to see what had happened, 
and when I returned, found the house deserted. My 
father, who could scarcely walk, had been dragged to 
prison in my absence, my brother also, during the 
morning. I have never been sure of what they were 
accused. They would neither shut me up with them, 
nor even allow me to embrace them. I never saw them 
again until they were in the charette, being taken to the 
guillotine. Some one who saw and recognised me in 
the crowd, tried in pity to lead me away, and on my 
refusal, went away crying. I saw my father and 
brother guillotined, and if I was not killed by the 
shock, it is because God upheld me. I did not fall, 
but stood riveted to the spot, mechanically stammering 
some prayers without seeing or hearing what was going 
on. When I came to myself, the Place du Trone was 
almost deserted, the crowd having dispersed in all di- 
rections. The blood-stained carts on which they had 
loaded the bodies of the poor victims took the road to 
the country, surrounded by several gendarmes. I did 
not know where they were going, but followed them, 
though I could hardly walk. They stopped at Picpus. 
It was nearly night, but I recognised perfectly the old 
house of the Augustines, and the place where they 
buried all in a mass, the unfortunates who had been 
guillotined. From that time, I have often gone 
there to pray; winter and summer, it is my walk on 
Sundays." 

It had always been a great grief and sorrow to the 
pious daughters that they should not have even the 
poor consolation of praying beside the graves of those 
dearly beloved, who had been, as described by Mile. 
Paris, buried in one undistinguishable mass, covered 
with quicklime, in the brutal fashion inaugurated at 

310 



aittti J^er f amilp 

the burial of the unfortunate sovereigns Louis and 
Marie Antoinette. She finally found that her mother 
and sister slept in the little cemetery of the Picpus, be- 
longing to the convent of that name. The origin of 
this cemetery of Picpus is of great antiquity and 
curious interest. Far back in the fifteenth century the 
people of a part of France, in particular, of Paris, were 
visited by an irritating affliction. Its exact cause not 
being known to the unskilled chirurgeons of the day, 
the epidemic ran on, unchecked. It was characterised 
by numerous, not over-large, swellings on all parts of 
the body, in appearance having the effect of monster 
flea-bites, with the accompanying irritation and itching 
of the skin. Finally, a monk, whose name has been 
lost, affected so many cures that he established a little 
monastery, at a village, or rather, straggling collection 
of houses, near Paris, on the road to Vincennes, where, 
with a few brethren of his order, he continued to cure 
those who flocked to him. These monks became 
known as the Pique Puces (flea-bites), from their 
treatment of those irritating swellings, so similar to 
the bites of that bloodthirsty insect, which they cured 
in a simple manner, by opening the sores, expressing 
the virus, bathing the wounds, and allowing Dame Na- 
ture to pursue her healing way unhindered. The order 
became a flourishing one, always being known as the 
Pique Puces, and giving its name to the village, now 
swallowed by ever-growing Paris. 

The vicissitudes of this order were many, and the 
monastery finally became the property of the Canon- 
esses of Saint Augustine, to whom it belonged at the out- 
break of the Revolution. After the law abolishing all 
religious orders, the convent with its quaint cemetery, 
its luxurious gardens and fruit trees, was abandoned, 
serving as a sleeping place for those waifs who knew 
not from day to day what the next hour might bring 
forth. Its gnarled trees, overhanging the grim walls, 
tempted young Jean and Pierre to put into effect the 

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iSl^atiame tie Hafapette 

law which ruled France at the moment: that of mak- 
ing one's neighbour's worldly goods one's own. Un- 
checked by rebuke, they became bolder, and not even 
the ghostly terrors of the deserted graveyard kept the 
ragged little wretches from satisfying their appetites 
on the fruits which had been the bonne touches of the 
absent nuns. 

After the Terror had slain its thousands, and the 
spectacle of executions lost the charming flavour of 
novelty which at first made it so popular, the Inhabi- 
tants of the rue Saint Honore and the quartier through 
which the laden tumbrels daily passed on the way to the 
Place de la Revolution, petitioned the Committee to 
have the guillotine removed to another part of the city. 
After the entry, " Prairial, 25," M. Sanson, the more 
than famous " Monsieur de Paris," says: 

*' At last the brief of the inhabitants of the rue 
Saint Honore has been granted. The day before yes- 
terday, as I was going to bed, I was called to the Palais 
de Justice, where Royer, the substitute, ordered me to 
clear the Place de la Revolution of the scaffold, and 
take it to the Place de la Bastille. The carpenters 
worked all night. The public of this quartier had no 
liking for executions, for as soon as we appeared in the 
rue St. Antoine, with three carts full, we were hissed, 
and otherwise ill received. The inhabitants of the 
quartier St. Antoine are not so timid as those of the 
Place de la Revolution, and they made no secret of 
their disgust; when the execution took place almost 
everybody had gone away. The Committee have 
determined not to renew the experiment, and under the 
pretence that the Place de la Bastille is too good for 
aristocratic blood, they have directed the scaffold to be 
transferred to the Place du Trone. So we passed an- 
other sleepless night. We are now to send the corpses 
to the St. Marguerite cemetery." This new arrange- 
ment did not prove satisfactory — the plan of putting 
the unfortunate dead in the cemetery of St. Marguerite, 

312 



^nti J^er f amilp 

for again, less than a fortnight after, Sanson alludes to 
the matter. 

" Messidor i : The dead are beginning to frighten 
the living. The inhabitants of the Montreuil section, 
where we now send the dead bodies, have complained. 
They argue that the stench is horrible, and that unless 
the small cemetery of St. Marguerite is closed, serious 
consequences cannot but ensue. After much hesitation, 
the Committee has selected a new place for the burial 
of the executed. This is the garden of the old con- 
vent of Picpus. The spot seems to be ill chosen; the 
soil is composed of pure clay, and it cannot absorb what 
is deposited in it." So runs the history of the cemetery 
of Picpus, where so many noble dead sleep in silent 
harmony with those who were of the byways. 

The enclosure, or field, was the property of the 
Princess of Hohenzollern, whose brother, the Prince of 
Salm-Kyrbourg, beheaded in the Terror, was buried 
there. His property, among which was the hotel 
(now rebuilt) belonging to the Legion of Honour, on 
the Quai d'Orsay, was confiscated, according to the 
practice of the day, being drawn in the National Lot- 
tery by a coifeur. The princess refused the request of 
Mmes. de Lafayette and de Montagu, to " consecrate 
the ground to the common veneration of the many 
families whose members lay sleeping there." " She did 
not wish to relinquish her rights." There was, how- 
ever, a chapel, and some fields adjoining, and these the 
sisters, with the many others interested, bought. It 
was leased to an order of Bernardine nuns, who had 
dedicated themselves to the perpetual adoration of the 
Holy Sacrament, their order, founded in 1425, be- 
ing second only to the Carmelites in its dreadful 
severity and rigorous austerities. So, at last, the dead 
slept in consecrated ground. Mme. de Lafayette 
passed many hours in the little chapel, where the names 
of the victims are inscribed on tablets, in the order in 
which they appeared on the books of the Conciergerie, 

313 



0^atiame tie %ata^tttt 

weeping, and praying for the souls of those who had 
gone without hesitation to eternity. This interesting 
spot, with its harrowing memories, is situated near 
the old mur d'octroi, between the Barriere du Trone 
and the Barriere de Saint Mande — now absorbed in 
the busy faubourg St, Antoine, and has — or had — a 
boarding school attached to it, where the nuns daily 
teach. It is still known as the cemetery of Picpus. 
At her request, Mme. de Lafayette was buried there — 
the spot for her grave being chosen by Mme. de Mon- 
tagu- — though it is usually to the tomb of her gallant 
husband that the steps of pilgrim and sightseer wend 
their way. 

The health of Mme. de Lafayette was greatly im- 
paired, for no woman, even of the most robust con- 
stitution, could have endured what she had been 
through without having some ill effects, leaving out 
that terrible, ageing mental anxiety, to which she had 
constantly been a prey. It is truly amazing the forti- 
tude and endurance which those dreadful trials had 
developed in this delicate creature, who for years had 
been in a condition of such weakness and debility as 
to cause grave concern to her family. At present, she 
was very happy, and so cheerful that she constantly de- 
ceived the loving eyes watching her, and, in a great 
measure, kept them from suspecting how intensely she 
suffered. Always gay and bright, she took the keenest 
delight in the arrival of another grandchild, an 
event which thrilled her — before everything — ^mater- 
nal heart with joy: She renewed her youth in the 
daily cares, joys, and sorrows of her children and grand- 
children, praying always that their lives might be less 
eventful and happier than hers had been. The next 
two years passed with rapidity, with such joy and 
peace, such tranquil evenness, that they almost ceased to 
count the days. To those who have suffered greatly, 
there comes a time when they may no longer feel with the 
keenness and emotion which was theirs in the beginning. 

314 



aniJ f$tt f amiip 

Nature can recuperate only to a certain point, and then, 
like a worn-out spring — snaps! " as the fountain which 
has played all night has not a drop of water left for 
the morning." 

What a pity it is that there are so few details to 
be gathered of the life at Lagrange at this moment! 
As Napoleon had advised, this famous family remained 
in a 

World forgetting, by the world forgot, 

retirement, though the exactness of the latter part of 
the quotation may be questioned. Those were times of 
great conquest, and the men for the times were not 
wanting. Napoleon was the star on which the eyes of 
the civilised world centred. The family at Lagrange 
watched with others, but the France of their day and 
generation was rapidly changing. 

Aged before her time by her many sufferings, 
Mme. de Lafayette was content to sit placidly, while 
the stirring events passed with panoramic swiftness be- 
fore her. She calmly endured the anxieties of the cam- 
paign of 1805-6, expressing the greatest joy on receiv- 
ing the news that her son George had the good fortune 
to save the life of his general at the battle of Eylau. 
Even happier was she when the Peace of Tilsit was 
proclaimed, and, having resigned his commission, he 
was free to come home for good. Her life was al- 
most too happy to last. Under the iron hand of Na- 
poleon conditions steadily improved. France seemed 
master of Europe — with the exception of a few sturdy 
little islands, across a strip of turbulent channel; but, 
best of all, they were together; a calm before a storm 
of sadness and grief. 

" At the end of the spring of 1807 it seemed that 
God had accomplished all my mother's desires in this 
world," said her daughter. " She had nothing more 
to ask. Her husband was beside her; she was sur- 
rounded by her children and grandchildren. All 

315 



iSt^atiame tie Hafapette 

seemed awaiting some great event." It came. A few 
days after the return of her husband and son, on 
August 22, 1 8 17, she was seized with terrible and 
violent pains and high fever. Such was the severity 
of this sudden attack that she never rallied, lapsing 
into a condition of much suffering and great weariness. 
When she attended mass in the chapel of Lagrange, 
on October nth, it was for the last time, though they 
did not have any idea that her condition was so hope- 
less. Taking advantage of a slight turn for the better, 
she was taken to Mme. de Tesse's place, at Aulnay, 
which was only three leagues from Paris. Her suffer- 
ings at once increased so alarmingly that they carried 
her to Paris, to the house of her aunt, Mme. de Tesse. 
About this time, she remarked to those devoted attend- 
ants, her daughter Virginie and her daughter-in-law 
Emilie, during one of her paroxysms of pain : 

'' My present state mars your happiness, but it does 
not diminish mine." 

This disorder attacked her brain in the most fear- 
ful manner, producing a state of extraordinary and 
peculiar delusion, but in a way entirely characteristic 
of her. She would sometimes make a mistake as to 
the position or occupation of her children, but clearly 
remembered each trait and peculiarity of their char- 
acters. She called one of her daughters to her side, in 
a moment of comparative calmness, asking her, anxi- 
ously: " Have you an idea of what the maternal feel- 
ing is? Are you like me? Do you know all its joys? Is 
there anything sweeter, deeper, stronger? Do you feel 
like me, the want of loving and being loved? " 

As through her life, the hours shadowed by 
Azrael's angel were filled entirely by the thought of 
her " love for God and for my father," writes Vir- 
ginie, and who can tell if perhaps her mind did not 
turn even more to her adored husband than to the 
heaven where she was so soon to be? Probably, per- 
haps, never, until these last hours, did he at all realise 

316 



^nti J^er f amilp 

the passionate devotion of which he had been so long 
the object. " The effect his presence produced on her, 
the choice of the words she used to express her love, 
with more confidence than she had ever shown before, 
how, with complete incoherence in her ideas, she fol- 
lowed up interests, which, though imaginary, were in 
keeping with her character and her opinions; the 
charm with which she spoke to him of God, and of 
religion — all this cannot be explained by words, and 
such a delirium could only be hers." All " those mag- 
nificent tendernesses, that unselfish love, kept back for 
thirty-four years, through fear that its ardour might 
tire or weary its object, she betrayed." Knowing her, 
loving her, as he did, it was a revelation to her hus- 
band. " God owed her the reward of permitting her 
time to reveal to you the depth of her tenderness," M. 
de Grammont said to his brother-in-law, who could 
scarcely control his emotion. 

She rapidly grew worse and worse, the end com- 
ing almost without warning. Suddenly, in the midst 
of her delirium, she began to utter the words of To- 
bit's prayer, which she repeated three times, with slow 
and dreadful distinctness. This was the same prayer 
she had said on that morning of mingled sorrow and 
joy, when she first caught a glimpse of the prison 
towers of Olmiitz; and showed to those surrounding 
her that her mind had wandered to the days whose 
privations had led her to the dire disease so soon to 
end that beautiful and blameless life. She died on 
Christmas Eve, 1807, as the midnight hour slowly 
rang over the world, which, for her, had contained so 
much sorrow. She had given her blessing to her 
family that morning. " I do not suffer," she mur- 
mured to her children. " May the peace of the Lord 
be with you ! " But her last words were for the beloved 
one. Too weak to open her eyes for one last fond 
look, she groped around, and clasping the ready hand, 
she sought, with a faint flutter of the eyelids, in vain 

317 



at^atiame tie Eafapette 

effort, for one more look at the idolised love of her 
life, faintly murmured, " Je suis toute a vous . . ." 

She had said to this world, " good night " and 
"good-by!" 

Letter from M. de Lafayette to M. de La Tour 
Maubourg. 

January, 1808. 

" I have not written to you, my dear friend, from 
the depth of misery in which I am plunged. You have 
already heard of the angelic end of that incomparable 
woman. I feel I must again speak of it to you. My 
grieved heart loves to open itself to the most constant, 
the dearest confidant of all its thoughts. As yet you 
have always found me stronger than circumstances, but 
now this event is stronger than me. Never shall I 
recover from it. During the thirty-four years of an 
union in which her tenderness, her goodness, the eleva- 
tion of her mind, charmed, adorned, honoured my life, 
I felt myself so used to all that she was to me, that I 
could not distinguish it from my own existence. She 
was fourteen and I was sixteen, when her heart first 
amalgamated itself with everything that could interest 
me. I knew I loved her, I knew I needed her, but it 
is only now that I can distinguish what is left of me for 
the remainder of a life which I had thought was to 
have been entirely devoted to worldly matters. The 
foreboding of her loss had never crossed my mind be- 
fore, when, on leaving Chavinac with George, I re- 
ceived a note from Mme. de Tesse. I was struck to 
the heart. On arriving in Paris after a rapid journey, 
we found her very ill; there was a slight improvement 
the next day, which I attributed to the pleasure of see- 
ing us; but soon afterwards her head was affected. 
She said to Mme. de Simiane: 

*' ' I was going to have a malignant fever, but I 

318 



^nti ^et f amilp 

shall be well attended to, and I shall get the better of 
it.' Unhappily it was not a malignant fever, it was 
something worse. One day only Corvisart had great 
hopes. Our dear invalid was beginning already to 
wander, when her confessor came to see her. In the 
evening she told me: 

" ' If I go to another dwelling, you know how 
much I shall think of you there. Although I shall 
leave you with reluctance, the sacrifice of my life would 
be little if it could assure your eternal happiness.' 

" The day she received the sacrament, she was anx- 
ious to see me near her. Delirium came on after- 
wards; you never saw anything so extraordinary and so 
touching. Imagine, my dear friend, a mind completely 
disordered, thinking itself in Egypt, in Syria, amongst 
the events of the reign of Athalie, which Celestine's 
lessons had left in her imagination, strangely blending 
every idea that was not from the heart, in short the 
most constant delirium and withal that kindness which 
always seeks for something pleasing to say. There 
was also a refinement in the way she expressed herself, 
a loftiness of thought which astonished every one. 
But what was admirable above all, was that tenderness 
of heart which she was constantly showing to her six 
children, to her sister, to her aunt, to M. de Tesse; 
she thought she was with them at Memphis, for, by a 
miracle of feeling, her mind was never invariably fixed 
but where I was concerned. It seemed as if that im- 
pression was too deep to be obliterated, was stronger 
than sickness, stronger than death itself. Life had al- 
ready fled; feeling, warmth, existence, all had taken ref- 
uge in the hand which pressed mine. Perhaps did she 
even yield to her affection and her tenderness more com- 
pletely than if she had had the full possession of 
her faculties. Do not imagine that dear angel was 
alarmed at the thought of a future world. Her relig- 
ion was all love and confidence; the fear of hell never 
came near her mind. She did not believe in it for be- 

319 



£l^atiame iie Hafapette 

ings good, sincere and virtuous, whatever their opin- 
ions might be. ' I do not know what will happen at 
the moment of their death, she would say, ' but God 
will enlighten them.' However, had her mind been 
clearer, she would have thought of what she called her 
peches, though she did not believe in any other divine 
punishment than that of being deprived of the sight 
of the Supreme Being. And how often have you 
heard me joking her about her amiables heresies ! 
Who knows if the fear of increasing my regret would 
not have partly restrained the outpouring of her feel- 
ings, in the same manner as when, during our married 
life, her utter unselfishness prevented her from yield- 
ing to what was most impassioned in her nature? 
' There was a period,' she said a few months ago, 
' when after one of your returns from America I felt 
myself so forcibly attracted towards you, that I thought 
I should faint every time you came into the room. I 
was possessed with the fear of annoying you, and tried 
to moderate my feelings. You can scarcely be dis- 
satisfied with what remains.' 

" ' What gratitude I owe to God,' she would re- 
peat during her illness, ' that such passionate feelings 
should have been a duty! How happy I have been! ' 
She said the day of her death, ' What a lot to be your 
wife ! ' And when I spoke to her of my tenderness, 
she answered in a touching tone : ' Is it true ? Is it 
indeed true ? How good you are ! Repeat it again, it 
does me so much good to hear you. If you do not 
find yourself sufficiently loved, lay the fault upon God. 
He has not given me more faculties than that I love 
)^ou,' she said in the midst of her delirium, ' Chris- 
tianly, humanly, passionately.' 

" When she was pitied for her sufferings, the fear 
of exaggerating them to herself and to others would 
come upon her. One day I was watching her with a 
look of pity. ' Oh, I am overpaid,' she said, ' by that 
kind look!" 

320 



^nH ^n f amilp 

" She often begged of me to remain in the room 
because my presence calmed her. Sometimes, how- 
ever, she would ask me to go and attend to my busi- 
ness, and when I answered that I had nothing else to 
do than to take care of her, ' How good you are ! ' 
she would exclaim with her feeble though penetrante 
voice. ' You are too kind, you spoil me, I do not de- 
serve all that; I am too happy.' 

"... Her delirium was intense. It bore princi- 
pally on the reign of Athalie, on the family of Jacob, 
in which she liked to persuade herself that I was ten- 
derly beloved, on the connections of Israel and Judah. 
' Would it not be strange,' she said, ' if being your 
wife, I was obliged to sacrifice myself for a king ? ' 

" She was in fear of troubles, of proscriptions, and 
prepared herself to meet them with the fortitude which 
characterised her in real danger. She thought there 
was to be a persecution against Christians and reckoned 
upon me to protect the oppressed. ' It appears to me,' 
she said, ' that the world is beginning over again ; 
nothing but fresh experiments. Why are not all things 
going according to your wishes ? ' All these thoughts 
were confused in her head; she believed we were in 
Egypt and Syria. 

" We thought once her ravings would cease. * Am 
I not mad? ' she exclaimed. ' Come nearer, tell me if 
I have lost my reason ? ' I answered that I should be 
very sorry to take all the kind things she had said to 
me for absurdities. ' Have I said anything kind? 
But I have also said many silly things; have we not 
acted the tragedy of Athalie? What! I am married 
to the sincerest of men, and I cannot know the truth. 
It is still your kindness; you want to spare my head. 
Do speak. I am resigned to the disgrace of being 
mad.' We succeeded at length in calming her. I 
told her she was valued and loved. And she an- 
swered : ' I do not care to be valued, so that I am 
loved.' Another time she said: ' Fancy what a state 

321 



Sl^atiame be Hlafapette 

my poor head is in; what an odd thing that I cannot 
remember whether Virginie and M. de Lasteyrie are 
betrothed or united. Help me to collect my thoughts.' 

" Sometimes we could hear her praying in her bed. 
She made her daughters read prayers to her. There 
was something heavenly in the manner she twice re- 
peated Tobit's prayers, applicable to her state, the 
same she had recited to her daughters on seeing the 
steeples of Olmiitz for the first time. I approached 
her. ' It is from the book of Tobit,' she said. ' I sing 
badly, that is why I recite it.' Another time she com- 
posed a most beautiful prayer which lasted fully an 
hour. She only once or twice seemed in error about 
me, persuading herself that I was a fervent Christian. 
' You are not a Christian,' she said one day, and as I 
did not answer: " Oh, I know what you are, you are a 
Fayettiste ! ' ' Do you think me so presumptuous ? ' I 
replied, ' But are you not a little Fayettiste yourself? ' 
' Oh, yes ! ' she exclaimed, ' with all my heart and soul ; 
I feel I could die for that sect.' 

"... One day I was speaking to her of her 
angelic gentleness. ' Yes,' she said, ' God made me 
gentle, though my gentleness is not like yours; I have 
not such high pretensions. You are so strong as well 
as so gentle; you see things from so high, but I will 
allow that I am gentle, and you are very good to me.' 
' It is you who are good,' I answered, ' and generous 
above all. Do you remember my first departure for 
America? Everybody against me; and you hiding 
your tears at M. de Segur's marriage. You tried not 
to appear in grief for fear of bringing down more 
blame upon me.' ' True,' she said, ' it was rather nice 
for a child. But how kind of you to remember so 
far back.' 

" She spoke very sensibly of her daughters' happi- 
ness, of the good and noble characters of her sons-in- 
law. ' Nevertheless I have not been able to make 
them as happy as I am. It would have required all 

322 



^nti Jper family 

God's power to have brought about that again.' It is 
not to boast, my dear friend, that I tell you all this, 
though one might well be proud of it, but I find com- 
fort in repeating to you and to myself how tender and 
how happy she was.' 

" How happy she would have been this winter ! 
All her children near her, the war finished for George 
and Louis, the birth of Virginie's child, and, I may 
add, after an illness, which, owing to our past fears, 
would have made her doubly dear to us. Had she not, 
to the last, the kindness of thinking of my amusements 
at Lagrange, of my farm, of all that was of daily in- 
terest to me! When I spoke of her returning home: 
' Ah,' she said, ' that would be too delicious. My God, 
my God ! ' she exclaimed. ' Six more poor years of La- 
grange ! ' She wanted to return there with me, and 
begged of me to start before her. I entreated her to 
allow me to stay, and asked her to rest a little. She 
promised to do her best, and became calmer. ' Well,' 
she said, ' remain ; await a little ; I shall go quietly to 
sleep.' 

" The disordered state of her mind did not pre- 
vent her having misgivings as to her approaching end. 
The night which preceded the last, I heard her saying 
to her nurse : ' Do not leave me ; tell me when I am 
about to die.' At my approach her fears subsided; 
but when I spoke to her of recovery, of returning to 
Lagrange : ' Oh, no, I am going to die. Have you 
any cause of complaint against me ? ' — ' For what, my 
dear? You have always been so good and so loving.' 
— ' Have I then been a gentle companion to you ? ' — 
' Yes, assuredly.' — ' Well, then, give me your blessing.' 

" On all these last evenings, when she thought I 
was going to leave her, she would ask me for my bless- 
ing. I spoke to her of the happiness of our union, 
of my tenderness; she took pleasure in hearing me re- 
peat the assurances of my love. ' Promise me,' she 
said, 'to preserve that affection forever; promise me.' 

323 



a^atiame tie IHafapette 

You may well believe that I promised. ' Are you sat- 
isfied with your children ? ' she added. I told her how 
completely they satisfied me. ' They are very good,' 
she said. ' Support them with all your love for me.' 
Then delirium coming on again : ' How do you think 
they feel with regard to the house of Jacob? ' I as- 
sured her that they entered into her own feelings. 
' Ah,' she said, ' my feelings are very moderate, except 
those I have for you.' 

" Twice only her excitement became intense. It 
was then the wanderings of maternal love. One day 
George, to prevent her speaking too much, had for 
several hours kept away from her room. When he 
came in again, she evidently thought he had just re- 
turned from the army. The wildness of her joy made 
her heart beat in a fearful manner. Another time she 
fell into an ecstasy of joy at the thought of an anniver- 
sary dear to our hearts, of the day, when, twenty-eight 
years before, she had given me George. That anni- 
versary was the day of her death. 

" One cannot admire sufficiently the meekness, the 
patience, the unchanging kindness of that angelic 
woman during this long and cruel malady. In her de- 
lirium, which lasted a whole month, she was always 
thinking of us and fearing to importune her friends. 
' I am very troublesome, she would often say. ' My 
children,' she one day added, ' must make up their 
minds to have a silly mother, since you are willing to 
have such a silly wife.' But never the slightest sign of 
impatience or of ill-humour. Even when it was most 
repugnant to her to drink anything, a word from me, 
or from her children, or, in our absence, the idea that 
the nurses might be blamed, sufficed to decide her, and, 
up to the last, each service was acknowledged by a kind 
word, a motion of the head or of the hand. ' Never,' 
the doctor said, ' have I seen in the course of a long 
practice anything to be compared with that adorable 
disposition and to a delirium so extraordinary. No, 

324 




The grave of Mme. de La Fayette is at the left, by the wall ; that of 

her husband shows the flags and flowers placed there on 

Decoration Day by American residents 

View of the Cemetery of Picpus, showing the burial place of the 

La Fayettes at the extreme right corner. Beyond the gate 

are buried the victims of the Place du Trone 



3lnl> !^er familp 

never have I seen anything which could give me the 
idea that human perfection could go so far.' 

" A few minutes before she breathed her last, she 
murmured to us that she was not suffering. ' No 
doubt she does not suffer,' exclaimed the nurse. * She 
is an angel.' 

" It was remarkable to what a degree her wander- 
ings corresponded with the different shades of her af- 
fection. When I was concerned her judgment was al- 
ways sound. Though placing us in the most fantastic 
situations, her mind was never at fault with respect to 
my principles and feelings. She would exclaim: 
' Decide ; you are the leader ; it is our happy lot to obey 
you.' One day when I was attempting to calm her she 
gaily repeated this verse: 

** * A vos sage conseils. Seigneur, je m' abandonne.' . . . 

With respect to our children, I speak of all six, whom 
she always recognised and welcomed, whom she al- 
ways spoke to in the kindest and most loving manner, 
and whose various characters and dispositions ever re- 
mained clearly present to her mind. There was still 
something less lucid in her thoughts than with regard 
to me. As to her grandchildren, she spoke of them 
several times to me with charming details; but more 
frequently her ideas were confused with respect to their 
number, their existence, and even the sex of the two last. 
She was most affectionate throughout to her sister, 
Mme. de Montagu; she frequently inquired from us 
both, how her mother was . . . fancying we had seen 
her lately. We shuddered on hearing her calmly say on 
the morning of her death : ' To-day I shall see my 
mother.' 

" Our dear Mme. de Tesse, who had been ill dur- 
ing the last weeks, and obliged to keep her room, 
wished to see her during her sleep. Ah, my friend, 
in what a state was that poor Mme. de Tesse on leav- 

325 



gt^atsame tie Hafapette 

ing the room! Her niece, knowing that she was ill, 
thought, in her delirium, that she was in a fit state to 
be carried near her bed. She spoke of M. de Tesse's 
health (he also was unwell) as if she had been in full 
possession of her faculties; she told me to go and take 
care of him. ' I am sure my uncle is pleased to have 
us all around him. Is it not troublesome for my aunt,' 
she said one day, ' to have us all here ? ' ' Certainly 
not,' I answered, laughing, ' we are only sixteen in num- 
ber.' ' It is true,' she added, ' that my aunt must be 
as pleased to have us as we are to enjoy her hospitality.' 
The last day she told me : ' When you see Mme. de 
Simiane, give her my love.' Thus her heart was all 
life when her poor limbs were already numbed by ap- 
proaching death. 

" I have already told you without any particulars 
that she had received the sacraments. I was present 
during the ceremony, which was more painful to us 
than to herself, for she had already taken the sacra- 
ment in her bed a short time previously. 

"The next day, before she became quite speech- 
less, Mme. de Montagu and my daughters, fearing that 
my presence might keep her from praying at her ease, 
asked me to leave them. My first impulse was to re- 
fuse their request, however tenderly and timidly made ; 
I had a passionate desire to occupy her thoughts ex- 
clusively. However, I repressed my feelings, and gave 
up my place to her sister. I was scarcely gone when she 
called me back. So soon as I got back, she took my 
hand in hers, saying: ^ Je suis toiite a vous.'' These 
were her last words. 

" It has been said that she often lectured me. 
That was not her way. She frequently expressed in 
the course of her delirium the idea that she would go 
to heaven. She told me several times : ' This life is 
short and full of troubles ; let us unite in God, and de- 
part together for eternity. She wished us all, and me 
in particular, the peace of the Lord. Such is the man- 

326 



ner in which that dear angel expressed herself during 
her illness, as well as in the will she had made a few 
years ago, and which is a model of refinement, of ele- 
vation of mind, and of eloquence from the heart. 

" It seems as if by dwelling on these details I was 
trying to defer that last period, when, on seeing the 
doctor giving up all hopes of her recovery, and only 
thinking of prolonging life, we felt that for her there 
was to be no to-morrow. Until then, we had only ap- 
peared before her two or three at a time, but that day, 
as she seemed to be seeking for us, we saw no harm in 
admitting all the members of the family, who seated 
themselves in a semicircle before her, so that she could 
see every one. 

" ' What a pleasant sight,' she said, while looking on 
us with complacency. 

" She called for her daughters in turn, and had a 
charming word for each of them. She gave them each 
her blessing. I feel confident that she was happy dur- 
ing that morning. And how should the last moments 
be otherwise than calm for her, whose piety, far from 
being troubled by terrors and scruples, never ceased to 
be, all the time of her illness, before and during her 
delirium, all love and gratitude for the blessings, to 
use her own words, which God had bestowed and was 
still bestowing on her; for who, notwithstanding the 
state of her brain, never lost a single jouissance which 
a heart such as hers could feel? Her delirium ever 
became less confused. Instead of asking Mme. de 
Montagu how my mother was, she told her : ' I look 
upon you as having succeeded to her.' 

" No doubt she felt that the last moment was ap- 
proaching, when after having told me in so touching 
a manner : ' Have you been happy with me ? Are you 
still kind enough to love me? well, then give me your 
blessing,' she gave me hers, for the first and last time, 
in a solemn and loving manner. Then her six chil- 
dren, each in turn, kissed her hand and face. She looked 

327 



£l^atiame tie Hafapette 

at them with inexpressible tenderness. Still more 
surely had she the idea of her approaching end, when, 
fearing a convulsion, as I believe, she made me a sign 
to step back; and as I remained near her, she laid my 
hand on her eyes with a look of tender gratitude, thus 
giving me to understand what was the last duty she ex- 
pected from me.' 

" We felt during these hours of gentle agony a 
struggle between the want of expressing our love, which 
she enjoyed so much, and the belief that these emotions 
wore out the little that was left in her of life. I kept 
in my words with nearly as much care as I repressed 
my sobs, when the touching expression of her eyes, a 
few scarcely uttered words, tore from my lips the feel- 
ings with which my heart was bursting. She revived, 
and found strength to exclaim : ' Is it then true ? you 
have loved me! How happy I am! Kiss me.' She 
raised her poor arms, which were almost lifeless, with 
wonderful animation. She passed one around my 
neck, and drawing my head towards hers, she pressed 
me to her heart, repeating : ' What a blessing ! ho-\y 
happy I am to be yours ! ' Until her right hand be- 
came motionless, she carried mine successively to her 
lips and to her heart. My left hand did not leave 
hers, and as long as she breathed I could feel that pres- 
sure which seemed still to mean : ' Je suis toute a 
vous.^ 

" We all surrounded her bed, which had been 
drawn into the middle of the room. She motioned to 
her sister to sit down by her. Her three daughters 
were continually applying hot towels to her hands and 
arms to preserve the last remnant of warmth. We 
knelt down, following the slow motion of her breath. 
There was no appearance of pain, the smile of benevo- 
lence was playing upon her lips, my hand was still 
within hers, and thus this angel of goodness and love 
breathed her last. We bathed with tears the remains 
of that adorable being. I felt myself dragged away 

328 



by M. de Mun, and M. de Tracy, and so bade my last 
farewell to her and to all happiness on earth. . . . 

*' On Monday that angelic woman was borne to the 
spot near which repose her grandmother, her mother, 
and her sister, among sixteen hundred other victims." 



" We found in her writing book a letter to me writ- 
ten in 1785, several injunctions made in 1792, and an 
official will of 1804. This memorandum, which was 
only a rough copy, was nevertheless a masterpiece of 
tenderness, of refinement, and of heartfelt eloquence. 
It speaks of religion with touching sublimity. 

" I love, my dear friend, to confide to your bosom 
all these recollections of the past, for what else now re- 
mains, save recollections of that adorable woman to 
whom I owed during thirty-four years an ever endur- 
ing and unalloyed happiness ? She was attached to me, 
I may say, by the most ardent feelings, yet never did 
I perceive in her the slightest shade of selfishness, of 
displeasure, of jealousy. If I look back to the days 
of our youth, how many unexampled proofs of delicacy 
come to my mind! She was associated heart and soul 
with all my political wishes and opinions, and Mme. 
de Tesse might well say that her devotion was a mix- 
ture of the catechism and the Declaration des Droits. 
I must again refer to an expression of her aunt's, who 
said to me yesterday: ' I never could have believed 
that it was possible to be so fanatic of your opinions, 
and at the same time so devoid of party spirit.' 

" You know as well as I do, all she was and all she 
did during the Revolution. It is not for having come 
to Olmiitz, as Charles Fox so elegantly expresses it, on 
the wings of duty and of love, that I mean to praise 
her now, it is for having remained in France until she 
secured, as far as lay in her power, the material comforts 
of my aunt, and the rights of my creditors; it is for 
having had the courage to send George to America. 

329 



£i^atiame tie Slafatiette 

What noble Imprudence to remain the only woman in 
France endangered by the name she bore, but who al- 
ways refused to change it! Each of her petitions be- 
gan by these words: La femme Lafayette. Indul- 
gent as she was to calumny and party hatred, never 
did she allow, even at the foot of the scaffold, a re- 
flection upon me to pass without protesting against it. 
She had prepared herself to speak in that spirit before 
the tribunal, and we have all seen how good, simple, 
and easy in common life was that lofty-minded and 
courageous woman. Her piety was also of a peculiar 
nature. I may say that during thirty-four years I 
never once experienced from it the slightest shadow of 
inconvenience. No affectation in her religious practices, 
which were always subordinate to my convenience. I 
have had the satisfaction of seeing the least pious of 
my friends as well received, as much esteemed, and 
their virtues as fully acknowledged by her, as if there 
had been no difference of religious opinions between her 
and them. Never did she express to me anything but 
the hope, the conviction, that upon mature reflection, 
with the uprightness of heart she knew I possessed, I 
should end by being convinced. The recommenda- 
tions which she has left me are in the same spirit, en- 
treating me to read, for the love of her, several books 
which certainly I shall examine again with the most 
solemn attention. She used to call religion sovereign 
liberty, to make me appreciate it more, and often re- 
peated to me with pleasure these words of Abbe Fan- 
chet: 'Jesus Christ my only master' {Jesus Christ 
mon seul maitre.) 

" This letter would never come to an end, my dear 
friend, if I gave way to the feelings which inspire It. 
I shall only add that that angelic woman has, at least, 
been surrounded with love and regret worthy of 
her. . . . 

" Adieu, my dear friend, with your help I have 
borne sorrows great and hard to endure, to which the 

330 



name of misfortune might have been given until the 
greatest of all misfortunes had been experienced. But 
though absorbed in the deepest grief, though given 
up to one thought, one devotion not of this world, 
though still more than ever I feel the want to believe 
that all does not die with us, I still appreciate the pleas- 
ure of friendship; and what a friendship is yours, my 
dear Maubourg! 

" I embrace you in her name, in my own, in the 
name of all you have been to me, since we have known 
each other. 

" Adieu, my dear friend, 

" Lafayette." 

Thus, in her forty-eighth year, died Arienne de 
Noailles, La femme Lafayette. 



331 



./>- 
N 



LETTER WRITTEN TO DR. BOLLMAN, BY MME. 

DE LAFAYETTE, FROM THE PRISON OF 

OLMUTZ 

Olmutz, May 22, 1796. 

I am at last enabled to write to you, and to express to you 
all the sentiments with which we are so deeply affected. The 
first wish of my heart is to assure you of our gratitude. I am 
likewise eager to express my regret for having been unable to 
address you sooner. In the prisons of Paris I had been in- 
formed of your generous undertaking, and I was aware that 
you and M. Huger were in custody; but we had been, and still 
were, in France; exposed to such tyrannical oppression — such 
efforts were made to annihilate the recollection of one whose 
principles and whose example brought to mind the duty of 
resistance to that oppression, and terror had so completely 
paralysed every heart, that it was impossible, especially in 
my personal position, to obtain many details respecting M. 
Lafayette and yourself. Besides, I was myself overwhelmed 
by the most appalling calamities that can be inflicted on the 
heart of a daughter and a sister, and I felt the necessity of 
coming to this place, in order to regain a portion of my facul- 
ties, and to recover my strength. 

I at length obtained a passport for the United States, and 
an American vessel conveyed me to Hamburg, whence I ought 
to have written to you; but as I had received in that city only 
an imperfect account of all that referred to you; as I was, more- 
over, persuaded by what I heard at Vienna, that I could easily 
correspond from this place, and as I confess that myself and 

333 



my daughters were completely taken up with the idea of ar- 
riving here, we thought that the expression of our sensibility 
would be more agreeable to you in the name of all four; and 
you may easily imagine, that from the first moment of our 
meeting, we had to satisfy the impatience of M. Lafayette to 
hear of you. From him we learned, with intense interest and 
admiration, all the circumstances which we had previously 
known but in part. We were informed of all that you had done 
in Russia; we were aware of the time, the efforts, and the ad- 
dress which it must have cost you at Olmiitz to correspond 
with him; we were apprised of your courageous attempt, but 
we were ignorant of the generosity with which you adopted 
Lafayette's idea, and the zeal with which you facilitated his 
flight, when every mode of serving him at Vienna was ex- 
hausted. It is impossible for me to describe to you how much 
we were affected by all the details of that day, on which you 
and M. Huger displayed such intrepidity, such delicacy, such 
indifference to your own personal safety, and such undivided 
devotion to the idea of saving the man who spoke to us of your 
efforts with such well merited enthusiasm. He would fain him- 
self explain to you how — after stopping on the road, in spite of 
what you had told him, to see you on horseback — obliged 
afterwards to walk, because the blood and filth with which he 
was covered attracted attention; — having stopped again, and 
even, in his uneasiness for both of you, having for a moment 
retraced his steps, he was forced to return to Sternberg; — and 
how, having reason to believe that you had proceeded across 
the fields, he endeavoured to overtake you before your arrival 
in that place, although he suffered severely from his first fall; — 
how, in a word, being unacquainted with the name of HofF, and 
not knowing the direct road to Silesia by which he had arrived 
m a carriage, and being unable to ask many questions without 
exciting observation, especially on account of the singularity 
of his appearance, — he was in the end arrested. He then, at 
least, had the momentary consolation of believing that you had 
both escaped; for it was only at Olmiitz that he heard of M. 
Huger's arrest, and he was not certain even of yours till he 
underwent the interrogatory, to which, through consideration 

334 






l^oteje? 



for both of you, he consented to reply; and in the course of 
which, having refused to speak on the secret correspondence, 
it was found necessary to prove to him that the surgeon and 
yourself had disclosed everything. I shall make no effort to 
describe to you his feelings during your horrible captivity. 
Though we found him recovered, especially since he had been 
informed of your dehverance, it was but too evident how much 
his heart had suffered from the tortures so basely inflicted on 
him — tortures which even to me, who had been in France the 
witness and the victim of the most atrocious and tyrannical 
anarchy, appeared the most cruel refinement of barbarity that 
hatred could conceive. 

Your feeling heart. Sir, will judge of the effect produced on 
us in this desolate situation of Lafayette, by the moment of our 
union, by the consolations which we were able to afford him, 
and at the same time by the sad news of which it was my lot to 
inform him; for never was a common sentiment of suffering 
more just or better felt. I also refrain from speaking of his 
situation previously to our arrival, or of that which we at present 
share with him: my former letter to our friends will inform you 
of both, and also of our apprehensions for his health and that 
of his companions. But how can I avoid dwelling on the deep 
feeling of gratitude with which we acknowledge ourselves in- 
debted to you for the assistance of those generous and zealous 
friends who, during an entire year, watched the moment for 
transmitting a few lines into this tomb, and who, since my 
arrival, have formed an indispensable Hnk between us and the 
rest of the world ! Why cannot I express to you all our obliga- 
tions to them; with the individual who conducted a delicate 
affair at Vienna; with him who undertook a long and painful 
journey, but one in every respect essential to our interests; with 
those, who, remaining still nearer to us, watch over our well- 
being; and, above all, with the friend towards whom our inex- 
pressible obligations are daily augmented; who has so many 
just claims to our confidence, and whom we cherish with the 
cordial and entire affection of our hearts. 

It would have been gratifying to us to have profited sooner 
by this opportunity of writing to you, but our friend's first note 

335 



informed us that you had already passed the ocean, and that, 
to thank you for the many great services which you have ren- 
dered us in Europe, we must wait till you have placed us under 
fresh obligations in America. We are assured that you will be 
in London in the month of June, and as our confidence in you is, 
like your interest for us, unlimited, I shall communicate to you 
our ideas on the subject, with which you are so zealously and so 
unremittingly occupied. Our friends absolutely require that 
M. Lafayette's writing shall not go abroad, but you will be 
gratified to learn that my letter has at least the advantage of 
being written near him, and of being the faithful expression of 
all his feelings. 

You are so well acquainted with the circumstances which 
preceded, accompanied and followed the arrest of M. Lafay- 
ette and his two friends; you have so actively participated in 
all the steps taken in their behalf; you are so well aware of the 
best way of serving them in every country; and we already owe 
so much to your courage, your intelligence, and your generous 
devotion, that it might seem more appropriate to speak to you 
only of our gratitude. Should you be at a loss for any details 
of what took place from the month of August, 1792, to the 
undertaking of the 8th November, and from the period of your 
deliverance to the present moment, you will find the former in- 
formation in M. Lafayette's private correspondence with Mme. 
d'Henin, in some letters to myself which M. Masson was to send 
to London, one of March 27, 1793, to M. d'Archenholtz, and 
one of June 4th, to M. Pinkney, to Mme. d'Henin, to General 
Fitzpatrick, to M. Lafayette's aides-de-camp, and from a copy 
of my ministerial correspondence, taken by my daughter. You 
will also find some details in M, de Maubourg's private letters. 
Here, however, I will repeat to you, what it is no doubt super- 
flous to mention, but what your inexhaustible friendship will 
not be weary of hearing. Lafayette's detention is evidently a 
measure entered into in common by the powers either openly or 
secretly allied against France, or rather against liberty. It is 
said to have been agreed upon in the coalitionary council that 
his existence was dangerous to the repose of the governments of 
Europe, As long as those governments transferred from one 

336 



to the other his person, and those of his friends, or the applica- 
tions urged in their behalf, it was more difficult to form a plan; 
but at present most of them have become the friend or at least 
the humble servants of France. The pretenders of the Bour- 
bon family are now regarded as mere objects of charity; and 
though the Emperor, in permitting my presence here, told me 
that Lafayette's affair was extremely complicated; though M. 
de Thugut, in speaking of him, frequently mentioned the word 
"importance," it is quite certain that, notwithstanding the 
hatred of all the other governments, the cabinets of Vienna and 
London are the only ones that can persecute us here. You 
know that the court of Vienna, in addition to its hereditary 
aversion for every species of liberty, has a particular antipathy 
to Lafayette, and that to all the known motives for that dislike 
may be added the secret impressions that have been constantly 
given by the late queen, or on her behalf. The conduct ob- 
served towards the three prisoners, towards you and ourselves, 
does not depend on the disposition of that court, but the malev- 
olent action appears concentrated in the internal cabinet; and I 
might hope for some advantages, were not that party itself, as 
the letters from Vienna state, in the servile dependence of Eng- 
land. In that quarter is Lafayette's principal enemy to be 
found: Pitt and he have long formed a judgment of each other; 
and that minister, who is no less perverse in his means of execu- 
tion than in his views, has every kind of superiority over the 
governments under his direction. But to consider the two 
courts apart, you are better acquainted than I am with the 
means which lead to a determination in the court of Vienna. 
Such means are not those used by society, which, however, ought 
not to be neglected (and amongst which I shall rank those of 
my friends, Mmes. de Windishgratz and d'Ursel, and the good 
Prince de Rosemberg), nor those of such ministers as are with- 
out influence, such as M. Cobenzel, who has not ventured to see 
me, although his cousin, who has a numerous list of acquaint- 
ances, and amongst people belonging to every party, has been 
extremely obliging to me. You, as well as we, can conceive 
that the justice of the applications from America, the testi- 
monies of friendship which we receive from other countries, 

337 



and the reproaches publicly made to our gaolers, must be of 
great advantage. The denunciations made by the opposition 
party in England also produce much effect on these courts, 
which perceive among that opposition the members of a future 
ministry. The Danish minister is said to be very well disposed 
towards us, and you have seen American addresses, the bare 
publication of which would be in every respect of the greatest 
advantage; but we think, with you, that no success is to be ob- 
tained at Vienna, except by means of intrigue and money. 
Some advances have already been made, and there has been a 
question, tolerably a propos, of 120,000 francs, for which my 
fortune is answerable; and as the only safeguard to be found 
here lies in the diplomatic character, we have thrown out the 
idea of obtaining a slight Danish commission for a friend, who 
might come to urge this negotiation in concert with those who 
have already had the courage to try it. 

I know not what instructions you may have brought from 
the United States, but it is very certain that the presence of an 
American envoy, besides the advantage of the step itself, would 
have that of furnishing an opportunity, a pretext, a sort of pro- 
tection for all the measures which might be secretly adopted in 
our favour. It is true that England, considered either as a power 
or as a banker, would always be the stronger, and to force her 
to relax her hold, she must be pressed at home. There at least 
public opinion is of some weight, and as our object should be 
not to caress or persuade Mr. Pitt, but to make him feel more 
personal inconvenience from Lafayette's detention than from 
his liberation, no means must be neglected of exciting public 
opinion against him in that respect. There can be no doubt 
that the extent and nature of the trade between England and 
the United States and the intimate connection existing between 
the American merchants and their associates in London and 
other cities, present great facilities for effecting the object to be 
gained. I speak of this matter with the more confidence, as 
among all the private individuals I have seen, I have ever found 
a sincere desire to do, to sign and even to pay all for the benefit 
of their fellow citizens. As to the official applications, you are 
probably the bearer of something precise, and though Lafayette 



persists in demanding that no description of interest should be 
sacrificed to his own, he thinks it due to the dignity of the 
United States, that all applications made in their name should 
be firm, simple and clear (even should failure be the conse- 
quence), and indisputable on the score of equity and justice. 
I will add that if American influence at Vienna is limited to the 
courteous consideration which two countries at peace owe to 
each other, such is not the case with England, to whom the 
situation, commerce, and policy of the United States are of too 
much importance to admit of the supposition that the British 
cabinet is not interested in treating them with consideration. 
The faults committed in this way by the English ministry are 
properly taken up by the patriots in England, and we must 
here repeat what Lafayette has incessantly observed, that 
manifestations of kindly feeling from the friends of liberty in 
every country, can teach nothing to our enemies which they do 
not already know, and that such manifestations from the oppo- 
sition have always appeared not only extremely flattering and 
valuable to himself, but advantageous to his interests. In his 
opinion the only precaution to be taken should be to communi- 
cate to his defenders such papers and information as may pre- 
vent involuntary inaccuracies, or even well-meant alterations 
of his position. Permit us also to repeat that, Lafayette, with 
a feeling of the tenderest gratitude towards his friends, merely 
requires from them in the name of their very friendship, that 
they will never speak of him except in a manner strictly con- 
formable to the principles and sentiments which have so con- 
stantly inspired every thought, word, and action of his whole 
life; but whilst just complaints may everywhere be made, that in 
the° deliverance of all the prisoners of the Revolution, Lafayette 
and his two friends were alone excepted, it must be admitted 
that the case is calculated to occasion scandal, rather than sur- 
prise. M. was one of the principal Jacobins, only 

after their creation, six months after the nth July, 1789, and 
he then became the principal confidant of the secret corre- 
spondence between the court of Vienna and the Tuilleries : his 
detention astonishes me, and not his liberation. Lafayette, 
who is more than a stranger to these two means, and who as well 

339 



as Messrs. de Maubourg and Pusy, has always been hated by 
the Jacobins and both courts, was unable to make any applica- 
tion except to the friends of Liberty, who were oppressed every- 
where. I am also greatly astonished that the Convention, 
having the advantage of their cannon, the only thing held re- 
spectable by such people, should have so long delayed enforcing 
the restoration of an ambassador, seized in a neutral state, of a 
military general, sold by Dumauriez, and of deputies who be- 
came victims to the same treacherous conduct. You will say, 
that amongst those deputies were two or three of the King's 
murderers; but had they been, I will not say Danton, for he 
belonged to those courts, but even Robespierre, and Marat, 
what are the crimes of such men, when contrasted with a life 
devoted to the vindication and defense of the rights of humanity 
in every country — when counterbalanced by the declaration of 
rights, by the duty of resistance to oppression, by that institu- 
tion of the National Guards, so formidable, whether imitated or 
not imitated, and by so many efforts to place liberty and equal- 
ity under the safeguard of legal order ? All that Lafayette has 
effected for justice and humanity, for the National sovereignty 
and the constitutional authorities, are so many additional 
wrongs towards those who desire to see France disorganised, 
the cause of the people sullied, and liberty set at naught. The 
situation of MM. de Maubourg and Pusy has not given them 
so many opportunities of exciting hatred; but setting aside the 
fact that their tender and generous friendship demands that 
their cause shall not be for an instant separated from us, they 
no doubt are also detested, since they have always endeavoured 
to establish that virtuous liberty which confers happiness on a 
nation, and sets an example to neighbouring states. 

It is not from our friends, who are not likely to be discour- 
aged, that we should dissemble obstacles and dangers; it is not 
by voluntarily closing their eyes, that they can prevent our 
enemies from seeing, nor by entering into the combination of 
honourable minds, that they can guess the purpose of un- 
friendly governments. It is not necessary to tell you, that if 
Lafayette were not to be liberated before the peace, or at least 
in accordance with those preliminaries which are executed 

340 



before the conclusion, there is no species of chicanery, pretext, 
or even fatal resolution which may not be apprehended from 
those fatal governments! When I see, on the one hand, our 
reasonings and our hopes so often deceived, on the other hand, 
so many examples of the iniquitous conduct to which I have 
alluded; when I think that many of our means will be less in- 
fluential upon peace in this country, and that the probable 
events of Europe may become fresh motives for our further 
detention; I no longer foresee anything certain, except the con- 
tinuance of an inveterate hatred, the apprehensions of tyranny, 
and the facility of acting upon them. These alarms will not 
appear imaginary to you. Sir, who have taken so much pains 
in different countries and with different parties to make your- 
self acquainted with Lafayette's real situation. You will not 
be tranquillised by a recent and secret information, of the truth 
of which you can entertain no doubt, which as wholly devoted 
to Pitt, no later than a fortnight ago, represented Lafayette as 
dangerous to the public tranquillity of Europe — an expression 
that must be referred, not to the war which now exists, but to 
the liberty which is now dreaded, and that recalls, almost word 
for word, your interesting conversation with M. Luchesni which 
was held nearly four years ago in the council of the coalesced 
parties, and which was recently disclosed by an act of indiscre- 
tion on the part of Baron de Breteuil, who was present. This 
is not a reason for stifling the interests of the friends of liberty, 
which would occasion the loss of means no less honourable than 
advantageous, without the sHghtest benefit, but it is a powerful 
reason why no measure should be delayed, no expense spared, 
in order that, should negotiations take place, our release may 
precede the definitive conclusion of a treaty of peace. 

Our friends, I trust, as well as ourselves, are of opinion 
that, whilst every method is energetically put into practice in 
London to oblige the government, and especially Pitt, to re- 
treat, and whilst all official and secret means are actively em- 
ployed at Vienna; it is also expedient that, should the belligerent 
powers order a meeting of their envoys in any particular place, 
an individual should be there, on whom the utmost dependence 
can be placed, and who may be authorised in the name of the 



United States, to demand Lafayette in a firm tone, and to decide 
upon a preliminary article; after which nothing will remain to 
be done than to proceed thither without delay, and urge its 
speedy execution. But we implore the Americans to recollect 
that Messrs. de Maubourg and de Pusy form but one with our- 
selves, that the announcement of their intention during an im- 
prisonment of four years, suffered for the cause of liberty, to 
become citizens of the United States on their release, already 
confers upon them the rights of such citizenship; and that the 
formal addition of our two friends, which may then be easily 
obtained, is nevertheless an indispensable precaution that must 
be taken to render our deliverance complete. You will ask me, 
as having lately quitted Paris, what, in a congress of peace, the 
deputies of the two republics would do for us ? If the deputy 
of Holland is a sincere patriot, he must for the last ten years 
have had relations with Lafayette, either through himself or 
through his friends, and you might become acquainted with 
him through M. Adams, or at Hamburg through M. Aberna. 
With regard to France, which is a more delicate subject, I pro- 
ceed to say a few words to you in confidence. 

It is unquestionable that with the exception of the Aristo- 
crats and the Disorganisers, Lafayette had the entire nation in 
his favour, and that the little which that immense majority 
effected to assist him and to prevent so many evils, is but too 
well explained by what the nation has since suffered collectively 
and in detail. That, however, necessarily produced compari- 
sons and recollections, and certain calculations as to how much 
less the same successes abroad might have cost, but it will not 
promote our deliverance, — first, because the citizens, who are 
still disturbed by the recollection of that cruel period of inquisi- 
tion and tyranny, dare not express their thoughts, and because, 
although our principal adversaries have joined the enemy or 
put an end to each other, there are still men in existence who 
are interested in setting aside all that may attract attention to 
their past crimes, and to the real source of calamity; secondly, 
because Lafayette, though not obstinately attached to the 
secondary combinations of governments (that which he was 
bound to maintain having been no longer conformable to his 



inclinations), though far removed from all these intrigues, of 
which liberty is not the sole object, and though more indepen- 
dent than ever, in consequence of his resolution to proceed to 
America, will never consent that his friends in France (and there 
are a few whom he will empower to act for him) should hazard 
a single word in his name, or even in his behalf, that might in 
the slightest degree compromise those lofty principles of liberty 
and justice which he has ever defended; that might omit to mark 
the proper place of such as have violated those principles, and 
of such as have died for them; or that might give the name of 
error to a well-advised fidelity to those eternal rights of human- 
ity, the declaration of which was, in the Revolution, one of his 
first services, and his inflexibility respecting which appears to 
him a duty, not only to himself, but to France. 

You will judge from what proceeds, that we can count only 
upon a general article for the deliverance of all the prisoners; 
there are, however, many whose intentions towards us are excel- 
lent, and who are as well known to Lafayette's aides-de-camp 
as to myself. If, for instance, matters should pass through M. 
Barthelmy's hands, I must own, that in addition to our opinion 
in his favour, which is of long standing, we have had recent 
assurances of his disposition to befriend us as far as lies in his 
power. You are perhaps already aware that M. de Pusy's 
mother-in-law has married M. Dupont, one of our oldest 
friends, and that we have a brother-in-law in France, M. de 
Grammont, who possesses our unlimited confidence in every 
particular. 

We await with much impatience the details of your voyage 
to America. We also ask you for news of my son, from whom 
we have not heard since the month of August, and who, I hope, 
has had the happiness of embracing you, and also M. Huger, 
to whom I dare not write, any more than to my son, being 
anxious to avoid exposing the secrets and the destiny of our 
friends to the accidents of so long a journey. 

You would render us a vast additional service if you could 
transmit to the excellent and generous M. Huger the expression 
of our gratitude, admiration, and regard, and the assurance of 
the feelings with which Lafayette is inspired by the idea of owing 

343 



the highest possible obligations to the son of the first man who 
received him, and of the first friend whom he possessed in 
America. Will you have the kindness to undertake to speak 
to M. Pinkney of our grateful attachment to him, and also of 
our confidence, and to say a thousand kind things to our charm- 
ing friend Mrs. Church ? We are too well assured of her hus- 
band's friendship not to feel assured that he is wholly occupied 
with our affairs. 

Adieu, Sir. When shall we be able to speak to you in person 
of the feelings which we so justly entertain towards you, and 
of which our hearts must forever be so deeply sensible? 

Noailles-Lafayette. 

THE PRISON OF LA PETITE-FORCE 

The Prison de la Petite-Force, formerly the Hotel de Brienne, 
adjoined that of the Grande-Force, of which it formed a part, 
and was remarkable for its characteristic gateway built by the 
architect, Desmaisons. It was situated in the rue Pavee- 
Saint-Antoine, number 22. 

When, in 1785, the prison of Saint Martin, which had been 
the Prison and House of Correction for the filles de Paris, was 
demolished, these unfortunates were transferred to the Hotel de 
Brienne, now called la Petite-Force, where they were to be pun- 
ished, not alone for pursuing their terrible profession, but also 
for various other misdemeanours of a similar nature. 

The following were the misdemeanours punishable by 
prison: if these girls displeased their "matron" or the police 
agent who ruled them; if they passed beyond the limits of the 
streets where they were obliged to live; or, if they by their be- 
haviour occasioned any disturbance, they were arrested. 

On entering this place of detention the appearance of these 
women underwent a complete metamorphosis. They were im- 
mediately shorn of whatever charms they previously had, and 
were garbed in the uniform of the prison; the taffetas, the linens 
were replaced by fustian, the beflowered hats by a head-dress 
of coarse cloth, and their elegant slippers by sabots. 

They drank and became intoxicated; they caroused; they 

344 



quarrelled and fought; they smoked pipes, and, to warm them- 
selves in winter, danced "rondes." They occupied themselves 
with spinning, sewing and other feminine occupations. — His- 
toire de Paris. Dulaure, Vol. VII, 265. 

Of the arrival of Mme. de Lafayette at the prison of le 
Plessis, the Duchesse de Duras says : 

"... An escort from la Force, which brought Mme. de 
Lafayette to us at le Plessis, of which the advance guard was 
composed of Mme. de Reaux, aged eighty-four years, of Mme. 
laMachaut,and other women, all septuagenarians,to whom they 
had granted the indulgence of 21 fiacre, the others being, accord- 
ing to custom, in a charette. It was a long time before they had 
lodged them all, and we were able to get near enough to speak 
to them. Finally, I approached my cousin, who had come to a 
prison where the rules were much less severe than that which 
she had left. But all the filles de Paris, who were assembled 
there, presented a spectacle so indecent, that a person so pure 
as she could with difficulty look upon it. She slept in a room 
where there were four people with whom she was unacquainted. 
I found the means of obtaining for her (alone) one which she 
admired, as if it were a palace. She often spoke to me of the 
pleasure which she found in being alone, though the space be- 
tween the wall and the bed was so small, that there was not 
room to put a chair. Being in the neighbourhood of Mme. de 
Lafayette was agreeable to me; her virtues, and her goodness, 
her ideas, which she was obHged to hide during the first years 
of the Revolution, had not changed the possibility of opening 
my heart to her about my family, concerning which, I had 
never mentioned my anxiety. . . . She thought, for example, 
that she had but to defend her cause, and that of her husband, 
before the Revolutionary Tribunal, and that none were in 
danger, except such as had wronged, or been unfaithful to the 
Republic. It took me more than a fortnight to change her 
ideas, and put her face to face with her true position; as for the 
rest, that which passed every day before her eyes was more 
eloquent than my discourses. ... 

345 



" On the 22nd July, the rumour spread through the prison 
that the ' dames Noailles ' had been condemned. I said nothing 
to Mme. de Lafayette, and searched, and tried to discover the 
truth, which it was impossible to do. But soon after I read the 
papers in which it was said that Mme. la Marechale de Noailles 
as well as the Duchesse d'Ayen, had been guillotined. There 
was no question of my dear little sister-in-law (Louise de 
Noailles). The difficulty of procuring news from the outside 
was excessive. The ministers of the Terror, trembling for 
themselves, when I questioned them, replied vaguely. Though 
I did not doubt this new misfortune, I would not tell Mme. de 
Lafayette until I had made certain. I always tried to reassure 
her. Then I paid a gaoler to ascertain for me, and the dreadful 
surmise became a certain reality. How was I to tell Mme. de 
Lafayette that she had no longer mother, grandmother, or sister! 
Finally, there came a moment when she was struck with the 
embarrassment of those whom she interr-ogated. She ques- 
tioned, and my reply was a torrent of tears." — Notes sur Mes 
Prisons. Mme. la Duchesse de Duras. 

(See ANTOINE JULES DE NOAILLES, page 63.) 

From 1682 until the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 
1685, this Due de Noailles as commander of Languedoc was 
actively engaged in persecuting the Huguenots. Such persecu- 
tions were at that time rife throughout France, yet nowhere 
were they more severe than in the province governed by Noail- 
les. Ruling, as he did, with an autocratic hand and, no doubt, 
acting strictly in obedience to the royal commands, he showed 
little mercy to the offending religionnaires. He held them to 
be not only heretics but rebels and, as such, deserving of every 
punishment. 

Soon after his appointment, he addressed the monarch to 
this effect:* "It suffices that Your Majesty's orders be known 
to ensure their immediate execution." Unhappily the bigoted 

^History of the Huguenots, by W. S. Browning. Paris, 1839. 
Page 207 et seq. 



designs of the court rendered this otherwise humane nobleman 
a minister of wrath to the Huguenots. " However, he punished 
some CathoHcs for insulting the Huguenots; and issued a proc- 
lamation to enjoin good fellowship." 

After an engagement between the Huguenots and royal 
forces in which the latter were victorious, "thirteen of the pris- 
oners were selected; twelve were hanged at once on the spot, 
their companion being compelled to act as executioner." What 
happened to the thirteenth man the historian neglects to record. 
"This victory was naturally followed by the destruction of sev- 
eral temples . . . None were spared who fell into the hands 
of the troops." The Due de Noailles in his letter observes: 
"These wretches went to the gibbet, with the firm assurance of 
dying as martyrs; and demanded no other favor than that they 
might be quickly executed. They begged pardon of the sol- 
diers; but not one of them would ask it of the King." 

Shortly before the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Noail- 
les still commanded in Languedoc " and pursued his missionary 
career in a similar manner." After relating in his Report the 
forced conversion of Nismes, Uzes and other towns, he adds : 
" I am preparing to go through the Cevennes, and hope that, 
by the end of the month, not a Huguenot will remain." 

Such reports not only misled the King, but must have also 
strongly influenced him toward revoking the Edict. A few days 
after the Revocation, Madame de Maintenon thus writes: 
" The King is very well pleased at having completed the great 
work of bringing the heretics back to the Church." And, in 
this "great work," the Due de Noailles played no small part. 



347 



ti^t of ^orfeji Con?iulteD 

Among the works consulted in the preparation of this book 
were: 

Le General LaFayette, par Etienne Charavay. Paris, 1898. 
yournal des Prisons de mon Pere, de ma Mere et des MienneSy 

par Mme. la Duchesse de Duras, nee Noailles. Paris, 

1888. 
Memotres, Correspondance et Manuscnts du General Lafayette. 

Paris, 1837. 
Memotres de Madame de Montagu. Paris, 1889, 
Souvenirs et Anecdotes, par M. le Comte de Segur. Paris, 1827. 
Vie de Madame de Lafayette, par Mme. de Lasteyrie. Paris, 

1869. 
Notice sur Mme. la Duchesse d'Ayen, par Mme. de Lafayette. 

Paris, 1869. 
Histoire Complete de la Vie du General Lafayette, par M. B . 

Paris, 1 83 1. 
Memoires sur les Prisons {de Paris). Anonyme. Paris, 1823. 
Memoires et Proces-Verbaux , par la Societe Agricole et Scien- 

tifique de la Haute-Loire. Le Puy, 1 885. 
Les Femmes Celebres de 1 789 a 1 795, par E. LairtuUier. Paris, 

1840. 
Almanack des Prisons, etc., par Citoyen Michel. Paris, I'an 

III de la Repubhque. 
Madame de la Fayette {Mane Pioche de la Vergne). Anonyme. 

Paris. 
Memoirs of B arras. 
Souvenirs et Correspondance du Comte de Neuilly. Paris, 

1865. 
Les Femmes, etc., par le Vicomte J. A. de Segur. Paris, 1 820. 
Memoires sur La Bastille, par M. Linguet. Londres, 1 783. 

348 



%i$t of Woxh^ €nn$u\tttx 

Memoires du Due des Cars. Paris, 1 890. 

Life of Gilbert Motier de Lafayette, by Ebenr. Mack. Ithaca, 

N.Y., 1841. 
History of the Huguenots, from 1598 to 1838, by W. S. Brown- 
ing. London and Paris, 1839. 
French Women of Letters, by Julia Kavanagh. 
Histoire de Paris, par J. L. Dulaure. Paris, 1837. 
Memoires de Madame du Barn. Paris. 
Diary of Sanson. London. 
Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, by J. 

Cloquet. London, 1835. 
Memoirs of Marie Antoinette, by Madame Campan. 
Marie Antoinette and the End of the Old Regime, by L de Saint- 

Amant. 
Marie Antoinette and the Downfall of Royalty, by L de Saint- 

Amant. 
Memoirs of Madame d'Hausset. 
Paris, by Mrs. Frances Gore. London. 
France, by Lady Morgan. 
Recollections of Republican France, by J. K. MuUigen, M.A., 

M.D. 
Secret Correspondence of Madame de Maintenon. 
The Stones of Paris, by B. E. and C. M. Martin. 
Episodes of French History, by Miss Pardoe. 
Memoirs of Cardinal de Retz. 

The Writings of Gouverneur Morris, by Jared Sparks. 
Memoirs of the Due de St. Simon. 

Memoirs of the House of Orleans, by W. Cooke Taylor, LL.D. 
Memoirs of the French Revolution, by Pages. London, first 

edition. 
Letters of Helen Maria Williams. 
The Gentleman s Magazine. London, 1 770 to 1 807. 
Chronological Abridgement of the History of France, by Henault. 
"Journal of Occurrences at the Temple, by M. Clery. 
Les Miserables, par Victor Hugo. 
Memoirs of Joseph Fouche, Due d'Otranto. 
Naval History, by W. James. London, second edition. 
Memorable Paris Houses, by W. Harrison. 
Lettres de Madame de Sevigne. Paris. 

349 



Sj^t of Wtith^ €mmlttt^ 

Madame Recamier and her Friends, by Mme. Lenormant. 

Memoirs of Marmontel. 

Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions, by C. Mackay, 

LL.D. London, first edition. 
Evenings with Prince Cambaceres, by Baron Langon. Phila., 

1838. 
Memoirs of Sully. 

History of France, by Montgomery. 
Biographical Anecdotes of the Founders of the French Republic. 

Anonymous. 
Court and Camp of Bonaparte. Anonymous. 
Memoires de Mme. la Marquise de Roche Jacqueline. 
Les Femmes de la Revolution, par J. Michelet. Paris, 1898. 
Promenades dans Paris, par Georges Cain. Paris, 1907. 
Mon Vieux Paris, par Edouard Drumont. Paris, 1907. 
Ce qui Reste du Vieux Paris, par Vicomte de Villebresme. 

Paris, n.d. 
L'Hotel de Transylvanie, par Leo Mouton. Paris, 1907. 

In addition to the above works, numerous contemporary 
pamphlets, prints, and letters belonging to the Congressional 
Library at Washington, the Boston Public Library, the British 
Museum, the Bibliotheque Nationale and Musee Carnivalet 
were consulted. 



2>S'=> 



3|nDejc 



Ayen, Adrienne d', see Mme. de 
Lafayette. 

Ayen, Due d', (Jean Paul Fran- 
cois), Due de Noailles, Mme. 
de Lafayette's father, is at- 
tached to king, 8; character of, 
70-72; fights for king, 157; es- 
capes mob, 158; flees to Swit- 
zerland, 223-224. 

Ayen, Duchesse d', Duchesse de 
Noailles (Henriette d'Agus- 
seau de Fresnes), Mme. de La- 
fayette's mother, childhood, 5- 
7; marriage, 8; character and 
domestic life, 9-16, 42-43; con- 
dones her son-in-law's depar- 
ture for America, 94-95; loses 
father, 122; monarchical sym- 
pathies, 142; arrested, 208; im- 
prisoned and executed, 222-240. 

Bastille, erroneous ideas of fall 
of the, 130-132. 

Beauvais, Pierre, 169-170. 

Bollman, Dr., tries to free Lafay- 
ette, 266-271; letter to, from 
Mme. de Lafayette, 333-344. 

Bonaparte, Napoleon, suited the 
French character, 279-280; 
conquers Austria, 287; frees 
Lafayette, 289; thanked by 
captives of Olmiitz, 290-291; 
on Lafayette, 298; and Mme 
de Lafayette, 298; unfriendly 
to Lafayette's son, 301-303; 



final breach with Lafayette, 302 

7303- 
Brissot, M., letters to, by Mme. 

Lafayette, 164-166, 172-174; 

friendly wish for her, 185. 
BrogHe, Due de, advises Marquis 

de Lafayette, 90. 
Brulart, Mme., wears strange 

medallion, 130. 

CiESAR, bust of at Chavinac, 147. 

Campan, Mme., on queen's paint- 
ings 73-74- 

Caradeuc, Mme., her husband 
executed, 218. 

Carre, 13. 

Carrichon, Pere, attends Mmes. 
d'Ayen and de Noailles in 
prison, 224; describes their 
execution, 230-240; disguised, 
247; letter to from Mme. de 
Lafayette, 307; marries Virginia 
to Marquis de Lasteyrie, 308. 

Carter, Professor, describes La- 
grange, 299-300. 

Castries, M. de, aids Lafayette's 
effort to elevate negroes, 124. 

Caussin, Pere, confesses king and 
Mile, de Lafayette, 20-21. 

Charles I of England executed, 82. 

Chastelar, Marquis de, negotiates 
with Lafayette as to latter's 
liberty, 287-288. 

Chastelleaux, friend of Washing- 
ton, 139. 



35: 



^ntiej: 



Chavinac, Chateau de, home of 
the Lafayettes, 146-151. 

Chavinac, Comtesse de, her 
friendship with Mme. d'Ayen, 
122-123; portrait, 147; angry 
with Lafayette for his ad- 
vanced views, 152; accom- 
panies Mme. de Lafayette 
under arrest, 162; Mme. de 
Lafayette reluctant to leave, 
201; patriotic, 204; arrested, 
208; and brother's picture, 220; 
rebuys estate, 256; in age, 305. 

Chavinac, village of, improved 
methods of industry intro- 
duced into, by Lafayette, 148- 
151. 

Clarence, Duke of, 17. 

Clermont, Mile, de, ']']. 

Cloquet, De Jules, on Lafayette's 
surgical treatment, 307. 

Cobentzel, 259. 

Coburg, Prince of, 200. 

Colbert, 35, 84. 

Colombel, Adrien, 248. 

Concini, Eleanor, 81. 

Corneille, 27. 

Cosse-Brissiac, 35. 

Custis, Miss, 253. 

D'Agusseau, M., 1-5, 13, 47. 

D'Agusseau, Anne Louise Hen- 
ri ette, 71. 

D'Agusseau, Mme., 222. 

Dauphiness (Marie Antoinette), 
30, 41, 74-75, 87. 

Deschamp, Dr., 307. 

Dubarri, Mme., 31, 49, 70, 74, 83. 

Dubois, Abbe, 62. 

Dupre, M., 7. 

Dupre, Anne-Louise Fran^oise, 
Mme. de Lafayette's grand- 
mother, 5. 



Duras, Duchesse de, transmits 
account of prison life of Mmes. 
d'Ayen and de Noailles, 228; 
obtains release of Mme. de 
Lafayette, 248; describes the 
latter's arrival at Le Plessis, 
345-346. 

Dyson, John, English agricul- 
turist, improves industries on 
Lafayette's manor of Chavi- 
nac, 150-151; conveys Mme. 
de Lafayette's letter to George 
Washington, 177; writes to 
Washington, 177-178. 

Egerton, Sir Francis Henry, his 
life in the Hotel de Noailles, 

. 37-39- 

Etiquette, Mme. 1' (Comtesse de 
Noailles), 42, 49, 54, 75, 89. 

Farjon, Abbe, 125. 

Felix, 201. 

Ferraris, M., 261, 274-277. 

Festival of the Supreme Being, 

243-244- 

Fete of the Federarion, 130, 132- 
136. 

Fitzpatrick, General, 115. 

Fleury, Cardinal, 4. 

Foix, Comtesse de, 34. 

Foix, Gaston de, 34. 

Force, La, prison of, 344-345. 

Fouquet, 84. 

Fox, Charles James, 2, 300. 

Franklin, Benjamin, comes to 
France, 90; influences Lafay- 
ette, 90; bust of at Chavinac, 
147; his grandson, 159. 

Fresnes, Mme. de, 7. 

Frestel, M., tutor of Mme. de La- 
fayette's son George, 124; sent 
abroad to aid Lafayette, 176; 



5Fntiq: 



endeavours to save George from 
his father's enemies, 190-192; 
bribes gaoler to admit Mme. de 
Lafayette's daughters, 207; vis- 
its her in gaol, 213-216; gives 
his property, 225; conveys 
George to America, 250-253. 
Fronsac, Mme. de, 112. 

George II of England, 70. 
Gissauguer, M., 211-12, 216, 
Golowskin, Comtesse, 72. 
Gouvion, de, 152, 155. 
Grammont, Mme. de, 222, 255, 

295. 
Grammont, Marquis de, 123, 158, 

255» 3^7- 

Granchier, M., 205. 

Grellet, M., 226-227, 231. 

Guiche, Comte de, 58. 

Guiche, Mme. de, 65. 

Guillotine, 217, 237-240, 241, 
312. 

Guitandry, Jean Ange, physician 
and mayor of village of Chavi- 
nac, 148-149; aids Mme. La- 
fayette to save priest, 194-195. 

Guyardin, M., wears wooden 
knife and spoon, 209; insults 
Anastasie, 215. 

Guyon, Mme., 61. 

Harley, Archbishop, 61. 

Hautefort, Mile, de, 19. 

Henin, Princesse d', letter to, by 
Lafayette, 197-201. 

Henri IV., 19, 58, 80. 

Hericourt, Mme. de, 5-6. 

Hohen7.ollern, Princess of, 313. 

Huger, Colonel, 98, 267. 

Huger, Francis, tries to free La- 
fayette, 266-271. 



Jacobins, 10, 87, 94-95, 117 
Jesuits, Convent of, 168 

Kalb, Baron de, 93. 
Klopstock, 117, 179 

La Bruyere on peasants, 84. 

Lacoste, M., persecutes Mme. 
Lafayette, 193-194. 

Lafayette, Anastasie de, daughter 
of General and Mme. de La- 
fayette, tries to accompany 
mother to prison, 205; is smug- 
gled into prison, 207; is forbid- 
den to go to Paris to plead for 
mother, 214-216; insulted by 
M. Guyardin, 215; enters 
father's captivity, 272; in pris- 
on, 284; wooed, 292; married, 
293-294; bears daughter, 295. 

Lafayette, Comtesse de (Julie de 
la Riviere), mother of the hus- 
band of Mme. de Lafayette, 
28-29; dies, 30. 

Lafayette, Comtesse de (Marie 
Madeleine Pioch de la Vergne), 
bom, 22; writes novels, 24-25; 
intimacy with La Rochefou- 
cauld, 25-27; estranged from 
husband, 27; dies, 27; char- 
acter of her romances, 28; Vol- 
taire on, 28. 

Lafayette, de, the family, 17-31. 

Lafayette, George Washington de, 
son of General and Mme. de 
Lafayette, born, 118; youth, 
123-124; unburies his father's 
presentation sword, 159; hides 
in mountains, 160; endeavours 
to escape his father's enemies, 
190-192; flees to America, 250- 
253; described by M. Latrobe, 
253; returns, 293; Bonaparte 



3S3 



^Tttiiejc 



jealous of, 301-303; marries, 
304; at Eylau, 315. 

Lafayette, Henriette de, daughter 
of General and Mme. de La- 
fayette, born, 89; dies, ill. 

Lafayette, Louise Angelique Mo- 
tier de, maid of honor of Anne 
of Austria, 17-22; and Louis 
XIII, 18-22. 

Lafayette, Louise Angelique 
Motier de, 17-24. 

Lafayette, Mme. de (Adrienne 
d'Ayen), character and person- 
ality, 1-2, 49-5^ 127, 140, 
296, 304, 318-331; ancestry, 
2-16; birth, 9; sisters, 9; 
childhood and education, 
10-16; refused to M. de La- 
fayette, 17; courted by, 49; en- 
gaged to, 50; married, 52; fin- 
ishes religious education, 89; 
bears first child, 89; on her hus- 
band's departure for America, 
94; child dies, ill; bears a son, 
118; favoured by Marie An- 
toinette, 120; illness, 121; 
bears third child, 121; in new 
residence, 121-122; forms 
friendship with Mme. Chavi- 
nac, 122; labours in anti-slavery 
cause, 124-125; aids husband 
to secure rights for Protestants, 
125-126; receives refugee cler- 
gy, 126-127; estranged from 
relatives by her conservative po- 
litical views, 142; escapes mur- 
der by Jacobins, 142-143; ill- 
ness, 143-144; saves herself 
from soldiers by tact, 153; 
searches field of dead, 157-158; 
arrested, 161; starts for Paris, 
161-164; allowed to remain at 
home on parole, 164; writes to 



M. Brissot, 164-166, 172-174; 
to M. Roland, 175; to George 
Washington, 178-182; to M. 
Roland again, 185; to the Min- 
ister of War, 186; rejects draft 
of letter to King of Prussia, 
186; writes to King of Prussia, 
187-188; defends herself against 
M. Lacoste, 193-194; rescues 
priests from Terrorists, 194- 
195; receives news from im- 
prisoned husband, 196-201; 
rejects divorce, 202; holds re- 
ligious meetings, 203-204; ar- 
rested and imprisoned,205-2o6; 
transferred to La Force, 211- 
217; mobbed and jeered, 216; 
transferred to Le Plessis, 21 8; 
paragraphs from her will, 219- 
220; released, 248; sends son to 
America, 250-253; writes to 
George Washington, 251-252; 
goes to the Continent to free 
husband, 258; sees the Emperor 
of Austria, 260; with daugh- 
ters, shares her husband's con- 
finement, 272-288; corre- 
sponds with Austrian Minister 
of War, 274-277; freed by 
Bonaparte, 289; intercedes 
with Sieyes for husband, 297; 
and Bonaparte, 298; last illness 
and death, 316-317; conduct 
during illness, 318-331; letter 
to Dr. BoUman from Olmiitz, 
333-344; arrival at Le Plessis, 
345-346. 

Lafayette, Marechal de, 23. 

Lafayette, Marie Antoinette Vir- 
ginie de, daughter of General 
and Mme. de Lafayette, bom, 
121; on her mother, 140; on 
Jacobin attempt to murder 



354 



3Fnt»ejtr 



her mother, 143; on her moth- 
er's transfer to La Force, 213; 
enters father's captivity, 272; 
on mother's illness, 283-284; 
marries, 305-308; on mother 
in 1807, 315. 

Lafayette, Marie Madelaine de, 
122. 

Lafayette, Marie Madeleine 
Pioch de la Vergne, Comtesse 
de, 22-27. 

Lafayette, Marquis de (Marie 
Jean Paul Roch Ives Motier), 
husband of Mme. de Lafayette, 
ancestry, 17-29; born, 29; 
youth, 30; and Marie Antoi- 
nette, 30-31; and Mme. Du- 
barri, 31; offer of marriage 
refused, 17; courtship, 49; en- 
gagement, 50; marriage, 52; 
"the great boy with red hair," 
54; poor drinker and dancer, 
54-55; influenced by Franklin, 
90; advised by Due de Broglie, 
90; as a patriot, 91; rejects 
connection with Louis XVIII, 
92; writes from London, 92-93; 
reaches America and joins 
Washington's army, 94; letters 
home, 95-115; on Charlestown, 
100; on America, 100; wounded 
at Brandywine, 103-104; on 
the taking of Philadelphia, 106; 
and George Washington, ill, 
114; returns to Paris, 119; at- 
tempts to elevate Cayenne 
slaves, 124-125; obtains rights 
for Protestants, 125-126; joins 
National Guards, 128; Major- 
Generalofthe Federation, 134- 
135; resigns command of Na- 
tional Guard, 141; resumes 
command, 141; his opinion of 

3 



that body, 141; censured for 
mercy to king, 141; home of. 
Chateau de Chavinac, 146-151; 
given command of one of three 
armies raised, 152; antagonized 
by Jacobins, 154-157, 168; his 
letter denouncing them, 155- 
156; sword presented to him by 
United States re-presented by 
National Guard, 159-160; held 
captive by King of Prussia, 
167; writes from Magdebourg 
citadel, 197-201; his property 
sold, 203, 220; prison Hfe, 263- 
265; attempts to escape, 266- 
271; further prison life, 272- 
287; refuses conditions as to 
liberty, 287-289; freed by Bo- 
naparte, 289; writes to him, 
290-291; Bonaparte on, 298; 
settles on estate of Lagrange, 
299-300; antagonizes Bona- 
parte, 301-302; breaks hip, 307; 
letter on wife's death, 318-331; 
motives of his enemies, 336-343. 

Lafayette, Marquis de (Michel 
Louis - Christophe - Roch - Gil- 
bert de Motier, father of the 
husband of Mme. de Lafayette, 
bom, 28; dies, 28. 

Lagrange, estate of Lafayette, 
299-300. 

Lambert, Father, 249. 

Lameth, A., 197, 201. 

Lasteyrie, Marquis de, 306. 

Latrobe, M., architect, describes 
George de Lafayette's life at 
Mount Vernon, 253. 

Launay, M. de, governor of Bas- 
rille, 1 30-1 31. 

Lavet, Mme., describes prison 
life of Mmes. d'Ayen and de 
Noailles, 228-230. 



ss 



^Fntier 



Leczinska, Marie, 73. 

Legendre, Representarive, taunts 
Mme. de Lafayette, 246; frees 
her, 248, 

Lescaliers, 124. 

Lesparre, Duchesse de, 47. 

Long, Commodore, 78. 

Louis XIII, 81. 

Louis XIV, 82-85, 17°- 

Louis XV mounts throne, 85; ex- 
pedients to raise money, 85- 
87; dies, 87. 

Louis XVI, good-natured, 131 ; 
joins in fete of the Federation, 
133-134; refused exit from 
Paris, 140; executed, 188-189. 

Louis XVIII, offended by La- 
fayette, 92. 

Lucchesni, 193. 

Maintenon, Mme. de, 25, 58- 
59, 67, 71, 83. 

Maisonneuve, Mme., 292. 

Marbeouf, Alexis, 297. 

Marcillac, Prince de, 59. 

Marck, Comtesse de la, II2. 

Marie Antoinette, and Mme. Du- 
barri, 31; as Dauphiness, 41, 
87; and Mme. de Noailles, 73- 
']'}•, honors Lafayette, 1 19-120; 
at fete of the Federation, 133- 

134. 

Maria Theresa (of Austria), 84, 
265. 

Marie de Medicis, 81. 

Marin, Mile., Mme. de Lafayette's 
governess, 10, 12-13, 51. 

Marot, Jean, 34. 

Marthory, M., 1 91. 

Maubourg, Charles de, weds An- 
astasie Lafayette, 293-294. 

Maubourg, Latour de, fellow- 
captive with Lafayette, 173, 

3 



197, 199, 264, 273, 286, 289- 
291. 

Maubourg, Victor de, 296. 

Mazarin, Cardinal, 63, 81. 

Medicis, Marie de, 81. 

Menange, M., 23. 

Monroe, American minister, with 
wife comforts Mme. de Lafay- 
ette, 246; seeks to aid her, 246. 

Montagu, Mme. de (nee Noailles), 
with the Due de Noailles, 36; 
marries, 46-48; with sister 
and aunt at Lake Ploen, 292- 
293, 295; praises Adrienne, 
296; makes match for niece, 
Virginie, 305; finds resting- 
place of guillotine victims, 309; 
procures its consecration, 313- 

3H- 

Montagu, Marquis de, 46. 

Morgan, Lady, 30. 

Morris, Gouverneur, visits the 
Lafayettes, 137; on the French 
and American governments, 
138; on Lafayette, 138; cool- 
ness of Lafayette toward, 138; 
repeats Lafayette's opinion of 
National Guard, 141; proposes 
to Mme. Lafayette a letter to 
King of Prussia, 186-187; fur- 
nishes her money, 201-202. 

Motier, Citoyen, 250. 

Mouchy, Marechal de, 72-73, 77, 
231. 

Mountflorence, 252. 

Narbonne, Comte de, 266. 
Necker, 211. 
Noailles, Admiral de, 58. 
Noailles, Adrien Maurice, second 
marechal, 8, 12-13, 47, 1 12, 

"5- 

Noailles, Antoine de, 57. 



J6 



'Sntitt 



Noailles, Antoine Jules, Due de, 
first marechal, 63-65, 83, 346- 

347- 

Noailles, Comtesse de, 73-76, 
144. 

Noailles, Due de (171 1), 65-70. 

Noailles, Euphemie, 232. 

Noailles, Hotel de, 33-39. 

Noailles, Jean Paul Francois, see 
d'Ayen. 

Noailles, Louis Antoine, Cardi- 
nal, 60-63. 

Noailles, Louis, Vicomte de, 9, 
40, 77-78, 106, 117, 119, 228. 

Noailles, Louise, Vicomtesse de, 
Mme. de Lafayette's sister, 9; 
marries, 40-49; married life, 
52-53; death of her son, 119; 
comforts Mme. de Lafayette, 
144; arrested, 208; struggles 
with Terrorists, 222-226; trans- 
ferred to Conciergerie, 227; 
prison life, 227-230; executed, 
230-240. 

Noailles, Mme. de, 8. 

Noailles, Mme. la Marechal de, 
222, 226, 228-230, 234, 239, 
299. 

Orange, Prince of, 192. 

Orleans, Due d', 85. 

Orleans, Henriette, Duchesse d', 

24, 58. 
Orleans, Duchesse d' (mother of 

Louis Philippe), 227. 

Paris, Mile., reveals burial-place 

of the guillotined, 309-311. 
Patriot, the, reflections on, 264. 
Philips, 28. 

Picpus, cemetery of, 310-314. 
Pina, Marie de, 22. 
Pinkney, 176. 
Plaisance, Due de, 36. 

3 



Poix, Prince de, 40, 77. 
Polignae, Mile, de, 19. 
Polignac, Comtesse Jules de, 76. 
Polignae, Comte Jules de, 76. 
Pompadour, Mme. de, 71, 130. 
Poussort, M., 35. 
Provence, Comte de, 92. 
Prussia, King of, 167, 186-187, 

264, 297. 
Pulaski, Comte, 106. 
Pusy, M., fellow-capdve with 

Lafayette, 264, 273, 286, 289- 

291. 
Puy, M., 161. 

Racine, 27. 

Rapin, Father, 23. 

Retz, Cardinal de, 23. 

Revolution, the French, its 
causes, 80-88; women's im- 
modest devotion to, 129; fete of 
the Federarion, 130, 132-136; 
the king confined to Paris, 140; 
faults of, 168-171, 279; perse- 
cution by Terrorists, 194-195; 
executions by Terrorists, 217- 
218, 241-242; Festival of the 
Supreme Being, 243-244. 

Reynard, Simon, 57. 

Raynaud, M., government repre- 
sentative, 204; abuses the La- 
fayettes, 208-209. 

Richelieu, Cardinal, 19, 81. 

Richprey, M. de, 124. 

Riviere, Julie de la, 28-29. 

Riviere, Marquis de la, 28. 

Robespierre, his cruelty, 241-242; 
at Festival of Supreme Being, 
243; executed, 244. 

Rochefoucauld, Due de la, in- 
timacy with Comtesse de La- 
fayette, 25-27; his son, 59; 
Cardinal de, 62. 



57 



'^nhtx 



Rohan, de, the family, 56. 

Roland, M., orders arrest of 
Mme. de Lafayette, 161 ; in- 
sults her and her husband, 171 ; 
her comments on, 173-174; she 
writes to, 175, 185; obtains 
more liberty for her, 190. 

Romeuf, Louis, 289. 

Rosemberg, Prince de, 261. 

Rouen, Archbishop of, 62. 

Roure, Mme. du, see Thesan, 
Mme. de. 

Royer, 312. 

Saint-Just, 247. 

Salle, Marquis de la, 47. 

Salm-Kyrbourg, Prince of, 313, 

Sanson, 243, 312. 

Saron, Mile., 12. 

Saron, M.,5, 13, 225. 

Saxe-Coburg, Duke of, 37. 

Scarron, Mme. de, 25. 

Segur, Comte de, 250. 

Segur, Laure de, 249. 

Segur, Mme. de, 249. 

Senece, Mme. de, 19. 

Servan, M. de, 185. 

Sevigne, Mme. de, 26. 

Sieyes, 297. 

Skypwith, 252. 

Socrates, 147. 

Soissons, Comtesse de (nee Man- 

cini), 58, 
Stael, Mme. de, 266, 291-292. 

Talleyrand, 302. 

Tesse, Comte de, 76. 

Tesse, Mme. la Comtesse de, sis- 
ter of the Due d'Ayen, makes 
wedding gift, 47; receives nieces 
at Altona, 258; buys estate on 
Lake Ploen, 292-293; at her 
estate at Aulnay, 308; receives 



the dying Mme. de Lafayette, 
316. 

Thesan, Mme de (formerly Mme. 
du Roure), Mme. de Lafay- 
ette's sister, 9, 117-118. 

Thommason, Mile., 20. 

Thugut, M., 261. 

Tollendal, Comte Lally-, 278. 

Tracy, Comte de, 304. 

Tracy, Emilie de, 304, 316. 

Tremouille, Mme. de la, 23. 

Tremouille (Princess d'Ursins), 
66. 

Tremblay, Joseph de, 19. 

Ursel, Mme. d', 276. 
Ursins, Princess d', 66. 

Valfort, M. de, 108. 

Valliere, Louise de la, 83. 

Van Ryssel, General, 296. 

Vargas, 57. 

Vardes, M. de, 58. 

Vaudoyer, Lafayette's architect, 

odd letter of, 149-150. 
Vergne, Marie Madeleine Pioch 

de la, see Lafayette, Marie. 
Voltaire, bust of at Chavinac, 147. 

Walpole, Horace, 285. 

Washington, George, Lafayette 
on, III, 176; Lafayette and, 
114; sends present of hams, 
139; is cold to Mme. de Lafay- 
ette's appeal, 180-184; letter to 
Mme. de Lafayette, 183; letter 
from her, 251-252; receives her 
son, 253; asks Emperor of Aus- 
tria to release Lafayette, 278; 
funeral oration at Paris, 301. 

Washington, Mrs., 112, 139. 

Windischgratz, Mme. de, 274, 
276. 



358 



inpJaVd 



C2.0. 



